Of Love and Moonrises
by Lynzee005
Summary: Audrey heard strange voices, as if they'd been spun through a cotton candy machine, spun into wisps and fluff of virtually no substance, spun into the kind of stuff that disappears as soon as you look at it. But through it all, she heard his voice. Calling her name, over and over again: "Can you hear me, Audrey? Help me…please help me, Audrey…" (Part III of the "Moonlight Trilogy")
1. Voices

**Prologue**

 **Tuesday, March 28**

Sheriff Truman rubbed his eyes and stared past the blurred shapes and lines in his field of vision to focus on the paper in front of him.

In his years as sheriff, he'd filled out dozens of incident reports—burglaries, vehicle accidents, minor criminal activity of the sort that usually peppered small town American life. He was no stranger to this part of the job.

But in the last month alone he'd filled out reports for drug smuggling, arson, cross-border infractions, abductions, assaults, and murders. And now he was staring down his pen at the handful of lines on the report sheet that were supposed to be enough to contain everything that had happened since he and Cooper had raced to the Roadhouse the night before to stop Windom Earle from carrying out his planned attack at the pageant.

Coffee wasn't going to cut it today. With a sigh, he pushed the paper away and rubbed his eyes again before reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk for the bottle of whiskey he kept there for moments like this. He uncapped the bottle and poured two fingers worth in the bottom of his coffee mug just as the intercom on his desk buzzed.

"Sheriff Truman?" Lucy's voice crackled over the connection. "I had Benjamin Horne on the phone just now. He didn't think it was necessary to disturb you, but he wanted me to tell you that he is really hoping the District Attorney's office won't be pursuing charges against Doc Hayward. He says it's more important to move on from…things like this…and I told him that it's not really our decision to make, but he said he was going to speak to someone in the DA's office, since Doctor Hayward turned himself in, after all, and it's his first offence and—in Mr. Horne's words—he kind of asked for it. He called it ex-ten-u-a-ting circumstances." Lucy sounded exasperated, as if the simple act of remembering all of that had taxed her to her breaking point. Truman had heard of baby brain before; the thought of that affecting Lucy's already scattered intellect was almost too much to consider. He made a mental note to contact the staffing agency in Spokane about finding a maternity leave replacement—the sooner, the better.

"And we _did_ release him on bail, after all, mostly because you needed him to check on Agent Cooper, but I didn't tell Mr. Horne that, even though he'd probably agree it was the right thing to do. He's sure acting differently these days, isn't he Sheriff Truman? Maybe it's all this drama, or maybe he's just happy about the Ghostwood development progress but—"

Truman cleared his throat. "Yeah, Lucy, thanks."

"Okay," she said. "Also, Agent Rosenfield is on the other line."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Oh for the love of—" he caught himself before pressing the intercom button. "Patch him through."

"Yes Sheriff Truman."

"Lucy," he returned, a little more softly. "Next time, put the call through _first_ , okay?"

She echoed herself. "Yes, Sheriff Truman."

Moments later, the line crackled but Truman, barely able to squeak out a hello, was interrupted by the impatient rattle of the FBI agent's stream of thought, already in mid-sentence.

"—Say it was good to talk to you, but given the circumstances…"

"I, for one, couldn't be happier," Truman replied. "This one's a real head-scratcher. I could use your help if that's what you're calling about."

"Say the word and I'm there."

"I'll book you a room at the Great Northern."

"Tell me about Cooper? How's he doing?"

Truman took a deep breath that was supposed to be steadying but instead set his nerves on edge. He exhaled. "Albert, I'll be straight with you: it's the absolute damnedest thing and I don't even know where to start."

"How about the beginning?"

Truman swallowed another deep breath around a swig of whiskey, letting the stinging warmth course down his throat before replying. "I'm working on the final report now, but you must have read the preliminary report. I had Lucy send it over to Gordon on Sunday night."

"Yes, I read it," Albert said, and Truman could hear him thumbing through pages on the other end. "Mysterious trees and an oil spill and red curtains materializing out of thin air…all sounds a little bizarre, to tell you the truth."

"Well, it's about par for the course the way things've been going here."

"But the report ends after Cooper was retrieved from this Glastonbury Grove."

"Yeah," Truman sighed. "He was delirious, we thought from hunger but we have no idea what kind of place this was that he went to. He was gone for hours—nearly a full day, as a matter of fact—but he swears it was minutes, maybe a half hour at the most. Doc Hayward treated him for dehydration, back at his hotel. We thought he'd be fine. He slipped and fell in the bathroom, cracked his head on the mirror. He needed a few stitches, which Will was able to fix up right there, but then…things got strange."

"Strange how?"

"Well, they were little things," the sheriff leaned back in his chair and sighed, drawing circles in the air in front of him with an empty hand. "Personality changes. One minute he'd be himself and the next he'd be…too informal, and then too severe, and then laughing—crazed laughter. From one moment to the very next. It was—" Truman chuckled mirthlessly. "Cooper's always been an… _odd_ guy, but…I mean, ordering a pot of coffee and drinking it straight from the carafe? And then calling down to the kitchen to complain that he'd burned his tongue? That's just not him."

Albert _hmmm'd_ over the phone. "No, it's not."

"And some of the things he'd said," Truman continued. "He wasn't really sure Annie Blackburne was really Annie. Kept muttering things about a Red Room, some kind of ring. I wasn't sure what any of it meant. I still don't." The sheriff shook his head. "He just didn't seem to be himself."

A moment passed before Truman sighed. "Doc Hayward recommended that he be admitted as a precaution. Calhoun Memorial just isn't equipped for the kinds of tests he'd need for a positive diagnosis, but based on his symptoms, they figure he's got some swelling on his brain, maybe from hitting his head, maybe from something that happened to him wherever he went that night. I don't know," he admitted. "He's been in a medically induced coma for about 36 hours now to try and alleviate that."

Albert was silent for a while. "How's the pageant girl?"

"Catatonic," Truman said. "I don't know what's going to happen to her. I can't even figure out what's _already_ _happened_. It's more than a mystery. It's a damn mess."

"Harry, it's gonna be all right. Gordon and I are flying in from Philadelphia as soon as we can. You'll be the first call I make when we land."

"Sure do appreciate it, Albert."

"In the meantime, I'm guessing from the sound of your voice that you've been subsisting on a diet of stale donuts, and what's Lucy making for you—triple brews? Topped off with a little top shelf scotch?"

Truman looked in his glass. _Man, those J. Edgars are good!_ he thought. "It's whiskey, actually," he grinned. "But what do you recommend instead?"

"Liver and onions, usually," Albert dead-panned. "But I hear there's a gal named Norma, makes the best pies in the state."

Truman grinned. "You heard correct."

"Then I suggest you put down the hair of the dog and get yourself some breakfast at the Double R, stat," Albert ordered. "I'll call you when I know more."

"You got it," Truman nodded. They said their goodbyes, and the sheriff stood up behind his desk. The paperwork could wait.

For the first time since Cooper went under, he felt something akin to hope. He could only wish that the feeling would last…

 _His plan had failed. He'd seen the face in the mirror—the one that was clearly not his own—and seized an opportunity to destroy it. Even if it had meant killing himself, he reasoned, he had to try. He had to stop the evil entity from doing what he knew it would do: use his body the same way as it had used Leland's…_

 _But it was no use, and the moment of strength and possession was gone. He could sense the change—his corporeal self damaged, bleeding, and finally readmitted to the hospital—and felt nothing of the previous will that had allowed him to control himself, however briefly, in the outside world. Because it was the outside world. Or was it? It was a different world than the one he was in, the one with the endlessly looping hallways, the strange music, the now-familiar cast of characters: the Shadow Selves, the doppelgängers—Leland and Laura, the Giant and the Little Man, Caroline, Annie…_

 _No, he knew this was a different world, separate from Twin Peaks, from the mountains and the Douglas firs. He knew he wasn't dead. The rules didn't apply to him like they did to the others; his words, when he chanced to speak them, came out fluidly. But his Shadow Self, with the glassy eyes and the crazed laugh who had beaten him to the exit, who had taken Annie from him, who existed now in his skin outside the red room—remained rooted to him._

 _Somehow._

 _Because there were moments when a lightness came over him; like looking through a porthole after a terrible storm, he could feel cool air on his skin and his heart opened up. When the veil between the worlds lifted, he knew he was seeing the things the "other him" was seeing. A hospital room; a view outside window; a cracked mirror. His hazy memories—growing more and more distant—coalesced until he thought he understood what had happened. Until he figured out that he was the way BOB had reentered the real world._

 _The thought terrified him enough as it was—an out of control madman in the body of a respected law enforcement agent. He had no way of stopping the carnage—not since that first, isolated moment in the hotel bathroom—if BOB decided to wreak it. He knew he would have to sit there and watch. It was enough to make him lose faith, almost entirely, in his ability to right this terrible wrong._

 _Almost. But not quite._

 _The first time he heard Audrey's voice filtering through the gauzy world in which he was trapped, he was filled with hope. He could hear her; could she hear him? He was—he knew—a strong sender. Was it possible…?_

 _He wouldn't let it go without giving it the old college try. So he began narrating to her, the same way he'd narrated to Diane, speaking to the red curtains that leapt endlessly into the sky above his head._

 _He prayed for the messages to reach her…_

 **Wednesday March 29**

Audrey Horne swung her legs over the edge of the hospital bed and winced as she pointed her toes downward in an attempt to find the floor. She felt like she'd been ridden hard and put away wet; everything hurt. Muscles she didn't know she had ached and cried out for relief, and all the Percocet in the world didn't seem to help ease the constant, dull throb she felt everywhere from the soles of her feet to the ends of her hair.

 _What happened to me?_

She pushed herself up off the bed and teetered there unsteadily for a moment until she regained her balance. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she walked towards the bathroom beside the bed, and thought twice about flipping on the bright fluorescent lights overhead once she felt the searing jab of her headache squatting on her optic nerve. Her vision blurred and she closed her eyes until the moment passed.

When she opened them, she was staring at herself in the mirror above the sink. It was her face—battered and bruised but hers, and for some reason that fact was incredibly, powerfully soothing; as if she was expecting to see someone else leering back at her from the other side of the mirror. She had a black eye smudged across the skin underneath her right eye. Her lower lip was split and swollen, but healing. A rough hatch of cuts on her cheekbone reminded her of childhood skinned knees. She wondered if it would scar.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She lifted a hand and touched the cuts, the bruises. She pressed the bags under her eyes and ran a finger over her eyelashes, sticking together from tears and old mascara. She wanted to wash her face, but the thought of rubbing a coarse hospital face cloth over the road burn on her cheek left her weak in the knees. She braced herself against the counter for a moment before turning and walking from the room and out into the main hallway of the ward.

She knew he'd been admitted not long ago; that much she'd overheard from nurses and doctors outside in the hallway. But she didn't need to be told how to find him. Her feet walked her there, seemingly of their own accord. And when she arrived, after trodding the hospital corridors undetected by the Calhoun Memorial night nursing staff, she stood in his doorway for a long time before crossing the threshold and into the dim, moonlit room.

Under the thin sheet, he looked so small. He had bandages wrapped around his head; a needle in his hand glimmered in a shaft of moonlight, the tubing snaking its way over the railing and up to the IV pole next to him. Audrey shivered and walked over to his bedside, her eyes never leaving his face. She stood, swaying next to him, for a long moment before lowering herself into the chair she found there and reaching for his hand.

She counted his fingers—1, 2, 3, 4, 5... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5—and threaded hers in between, revelling in the warmth of his skin.

"I don't remember what happened. I was at the bank. I had them call the sheriff's department for you. Did they reach you? There was an explosion. But then I was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere really scary. But I wasn't _really_ there. It was more like I was watching it on TV or something." Audrey swallowed, her tongue thick and dry. "I saw you there. Could you see me?"

She sniffled and kissed his knuckle.

"I don't know what's going on. I need you now. I need you to wake up and I need you to be here. I need you to help me figure this one out."

But it was to no avail. She never really expected it to work; this wasn't a soap opera. Instead she clutched at his hand and kissed it as she cried.

Sudden flashbacks of her deepest nightmares returned, and she wept, openly, against Cooper's limp hand. The red drapes, the black and white floor, garbled messages filtering in from overhead and underground and everywhere in between, a mess of half-remembered shapes and colours and sounds.

But Cooper was there, and so was Annie, and other people she knew or thought she knew, people she thought she'd never see again—that one-armed shoe salesman, an owl who looked an awful lot like Josie Packard, Maddy Ferguson, Leland and Laura Palmer. They didn't see her—she seemed to think the white eyes had something to do with that—or if they did see her they didn't care that she was there. They laughed and cried; sometimes they bled, from wounds Audrey could never make out, wounds that would disappear and reappear from one minute to the next but which always soaked them in blood as red red red as those drapes.

The little man in the suit and the man with the jeans on—the one from the posters and the guy they all thought had killed Laura and Maddy—were there too. They vamped and danced in the corners, never making eye contact with her. But she knew they knew she was there.

She trembled at the remembrance.

The real world intruded on her thoughts; beeping machines and the slow drip of an IV replaced the voices, and the sterile white and avocado green of the hospital walls surrounded her instead of hot reds and blinding lights. She was still holding Cooper's hand.

She pressed her lips to the back of his hand, again, rubbing her cheek against his skin. "I don't know how to make sense of this. Any of this. I need you now. Okay? I need you to come back. Please?" she begged. "Please, Dale, you have to come back…"

Her presence in his room had finally been noticed, and her frantic cries towards Agent Cooper reverberated down the bare hallways even as the nurses who dragged her away sedated her. She was back in her room within minutes, fetally-curled under a thin blanket, aching and sad but right back in the dream world she never wanted to see again. She ran, down miles of red-draped corridors, into rooms with chairs and statues and singing and laughing, voices that seemed strangled and garbled, as if spun through a cotton candy machine, spun into wisps and fluff of virtually no substance, spun into the kind of stuff that disappears as soon as you look at it.

Through it all, though, she heard his voice. Calling her name, over and over again.

 _Audrey…can you hear me, Audrey? Help me…please help me, Audrey…_


	2. Released

**Friday, March 31**

 **Late afternoon**

Sheriff Truman was walking out of the building as Ed Hurley was walking in. The two men stopped and stared, as if through a fog, as they took in the sight of one another, before greeting and embracing as old friends do.

"What a mess," Ed said as he clapped his hand on the Sheriff's shoulder.

"You can say that again."

"How's Coop?" "I was just going up to see him, matter of fact," Truman nodded. "How's Nadine?"

Ed managed a small, painful smile. "Nursin' a goose egg and her wounded pride," he said before shrugging. "Truth is she's talking to a lawyer." Truman's heart went out to Ed; his own loss, only a handful of days earlier, was so fresh that the scab had barely formed, and here he was standing in the shadow of another. It was too much. "Divorce?" he asked finally.

Ed nodded. "If that's what she wants, who am I to stand in her way?"

Truman levelled with his friend. "What do you want, Ed?"

Ed sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. For a long moment, he stared out over the expanse of sky, just starting to turn purple at the highest heights above their heads. He just stood there like that, hands in his pockets, skinny bolero tie knotted a notch below his Adam's apple, looking every bit the cowboy movie star against the painted sky behind him. Then he took a breath and squared his shoulders to the sheriff. "Norma's takin' Annie down to Portland for a while. There's a doctor there who specializes in treatments for stuff like this. Really advanced stuff, a whole big research centre and everything. She leaves tomorrow, in fact." He sighed again. Truman nodded, thinking for a long moment before replying: "Ed, I think you should go with them."

"You think so?"

"Sure I do," Truman smiled. "When was the last time you did something you wanted to do?"

Ed seemed to lighten up, as if he'd been given permission to take his dad's car for a spin. "Harry, you know, that's not a bad idea."

"I'm sure Norma needs the support as much as you need Norma," he said. "Speaking of…how is Annie?"

Ed sighed. "The best thing they can do is just keep her comfortable and hope for the best."

"Yeah," Truman sighed, thumbing up the brim of his hat. "Well, look at what happened to Leo Johnson. Doc says his recovery was nothing short of miraculous."

"And then he tries to murder his wife and disappears into the woods for three weeks," Ed said. "Or however long it was."

"He'll stand trial," Truman said.

"Needs to get himself out of the hospital first."

"Him and half the town," Truman joked, though he wasn't far off. It felt like most of the people he knew were either currently in or had recently vacated the rooms and hallways of Calhoun Memorial Hospital—whether on their own two feet or in a body bag. Truman felt a pit open in his stomach as he hearkened back to the bygone days when town life was simple and uneventful, scarcely five weeks earlier. He sighed. "Calhoun's packed to the rafters."

Ed whistled. "No doubt about it."

Truman stood up to his full height. "Visiting hours are over soon, I should really—"

"All right, Sheriff," Ed said, shaking Truman's hand.

"What did you come down here for anyway?" Truman asked.

Ed shrugged. "Lookin' for an excuse to shoot the breeze, I guess."

Truman smiled as he hunched his shoulders and adjusted his coat around himself. "Maybe we can't keep the big city and all its problems from our doorsteps, but you'll never completely get rid of the small town."

"Amen to that," Ed smiled.

The two men exchanged salutations before parting, Ed to his truck and Truman to his. They pulled out of the parking lot, turning in opposite directions, their movements the only thing to break the stillness of the late March evening for miles around.

* * *

 **Friday, March 31**

 **Early evening**

Audrey zipped the small overnight bag shut and glanced around the room once again, looking for anything she might have forgotten to pack away. _Not that I had much here to begin with_ , she thought. _You don't amass anything if no one comes to visit you._

She wasn't upset about it. On the contrary, having five days to relax and recuperate without interruptions had been blissful.

Her mother had come by, twice—once to make sure Audrey was okay and again to let her know she was taking Johnny to a temporary care facility on the coast along with Dr Jacoby, and that she wouldn't be around for a while. That was when Audrey had thought of calling Donna to see if she'd be able to impose upon the Hayward's for a few days following her release. Audrey's own father was out of commission, laid up in the same hospital with a head injury caused by Doc Hayward himself, but that fact didn't bother Audrey all that much. Her Uncle Jerry, along with her mother, had stepped up managerial responsibilities in Ben's absence, so there was no one to care for Audrey the way she needed, the way her hospital release conditions stipulated.

Of course Donna assented. She had been Audrey's only other visitor throughout her convalescence; even without the shocking admission of her parentage and the realization that they were, in all likelihood, half-sisters, the two of them had become much closer than they ever might have believed. Donna had been in not ten minutes earlier to drop off a spare set of clothes for Audrey to change into for the ride home since Audrey had nothing but the clothes she was wearing the day of the explosion and they weren't really in wearable condition. As Audrey finished packing, Donna waited downstairs at the car.

The thought of going to Donna's home pacified and terrified Audrey, without good reason. Her hands shook as she took a deep breath and surveyed the room just one last time.

"Everything okay Miss Horne?"

Audrey opened her eyes to see her nurse, a petite, plain-looking woman named Judy, standing in the doorway.

"I'm fine," Audrey said.

"That's good," Judy replied. She carried a stack of bed linens in her arms; she stuck them on a shelf inside the cupboard beside the door. "You're going home today, right?" "That's right."

"Well," Judy smiled, setting her hands on her hips. "Good luck with everything."

"Thank you," Audrey managed. "Really, for everything. You're good at what you do." Judy blushed. "It's my job."

"I know," Audrey smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

It was then that Audrey happened to glance at the ring on Judy's hand, splayed over her hipbone. The ring—cut of a beautiful emerald green stone and set in yellow gold, with a finely chiseled geometric pattern etched into the top surface—was unlike anything she had ever seen before. She couldn't help but gasp. "Ohhh," she smiled. "That's a beautiful ring."

Judy glanced down and immediately clasped her hands together, hiding the jewellery from sight. "Oh this?" she asked. "It's nothing."

"It's lovely," Audrey replied. She stuck out her own hand, only to remember that her ring was at the bottom of the bag. She furrowed her brow and began to dig through the pockets until she found the tiny silver ring that she always wore. "Do you like mine?"

Judy looked at it, briefly. "Y-yes, it's a fine ring."

Audrey nodded, drawing her hand back again to look at the ring herself. "Yeah. My father gave it to me when I was very little, and told me it was his mother's, and that her mother before her had given it to her…it's like a history book on my finger."

Judy smiled. "That's nice."

Audrey grinned. "Where did you get your ring?"

The nurse blanched. For a moment she didn't move, didn't say a word; finally she took a step forward. "I can't tell you."

Audrey dropped her voice to a low whisper. "Why not?" she asked, her eyes glittering from the sudden intrigue. "Did you steal it or something?"

Judy didn't immediately respond, and Audrey lit up.

"I won't tell," she said.

Judy grimaced. "I might have tried it on and forgotten to give it back…"

"Really?"

Distraught, Judy shook her head and tried to pull the ring off her finger. "It's a bit stuck, you see. And I'm so embarrassed. The woman I took it from…she's that girl, from the woods? The one who isn't talking?" She shook her head. "Well, she's talking, she's just not saying much, something about a diary and someone in a Lodge somewhere? I don't know…"

But Audrey hadn't moved past the fact that the nurse in front of her was talking about a ring that had been placed on the finger of the woman who had stolen Agent Cooper from her barely a week earlier. Audrey gulped. "Annie?"

"Yeah," the nurse said. "Oh, it's such a terrible mistake. And now that she's being sent to Oregon for treatment—"

Audrey shook her head and managed a small smile, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "I won't tell a soul." Judy seemed relieved, and truthfully so was Audrey—she was eager to finish the conversation and be alone for a moment to have a good cry and feel sorry for herself over the whole thing with Cooper. Audrey nodded curtly at the nurse, whose mouth was still hanging open around her last words as Audrey stepped out of the room and made her way down the hall to the elevator.

Audrey pushed the button to call for the elevator and hitched a sob, forcing herself not to cry…

"Audrey?"

Startled, Audrey spun around, wincing from the pain that her sudden movements effected. Through stars, she saw Agent Cooper, clad in his blue pyjamas, standing next to the door to his room directly across from her.

Audrey beamed. "You're awake!" she cried.

"That I am," he told her. The bandage on his head had been replaced by a square of sterile gauze, taped against his forehead and covered, slightly, by an errant flop of his dark hair.

The dam broke and Audrey's tears flowed freely, despite her smile.

"Oh, don't cry Audrey."

She shook her head and giggled. "They're happy tears," she said. "I'm just…I'm glad to see you up. How are you feeling?"

He nodded. "Well, I'm still here—and by that, of course, I mean still in this hospital, so…"

It was an uncharacteristically pessimistic comment that Audrey chalked up to the same hospital boredom she had occasionally felt in her days there. She looked down and nodded with deep understanding. "I actually just got released today, myself."

Cooper furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, 'released?'"

She shrugged and relayed her tale—an act of civil disobedience, a bomb in a safety-deposit box, the door to the safe landing at just precisely the right angle to shield Audrey from the bulk of the rubble from the collapsing bank, untold hours of lost consciousness followed by an arduous and painful period of calling for help from the search and rescue team and volunteers combing the bank for survivors—and watched as Cooper's eyes grew wider and wider with each passing second. When she finished, Cooper blinked twice and stood up to his full height before crossing the space between the two of them to envelop her in an embrace.

"Audrey…" he said against her hair as he wrapped his arms around her. Audrey inhaled his aftershave, standing in his scent, and thought she surely could have died.

"It's okay," she said, her voice coming out muffled against the fabric of his lapel. "I'm fine. And you're fine. That's the main thing."

Still, his grip on her didn't loosen. The pain in her ribcage—two bruised ribs and a muscle strain sent shockwaves racing up the nerve paths between the injured sites and her brain, with every passing second Cooper's arms encircled her—was quickly becoming too much to bear. "Agent Cooper…you're hurting me."

"I had no idea," he said. "I was chasing after Annie and that whole time, you were—"

Audrey was struggling to breathe. "Agent Cooper, I—I can't—"

"I would have come," he told her, his arms still squeezing her. "I would have been there."

"Let me go, please! Dale!" she cried, and at the sound of his name, he let her go and Audrey, stunned, staggered back two steps towards the elevator.

Tears stung her eyes and she wheezed through a sharp inhale that hurt almost as badly as his worried constriction had; on the exhale, her breath hitched on a sob. She swiped tears from her cheeks.

Cooper stood, staring at her. "I'm sorry," he said.

He seemed genuinely upset, unaware perhaps of the strength of his own concern made manifest in his embrace. Audrey wiped her fingers, wet with tears, on her skirt.

"I-It's okay," she said.

"I really didn't—"

"I know," she nodded quickly, offering him a smile.

The ' _ding_ ' of the elevator behind her broke through her concentration and she turned to see the doors open.

"I need to go," she said. "Donna is waiting for me."

"I see."

"I'll be staying with them, the Haywards," she said, taking a few more steps back until she was standing on the threshold of the elevator, blocking the doors from closing. "In case you need to reach me."

"Okay, Audrey," he said.

She watched him leaning against the doorframe, his eyes filled with concern over his actions. But there was something else there as well. Audrey couldn't pinpoint it exactly: amusement, perhaps. It was written on his face, in the upturned corners of his mouth and the way his square jaw was set. Even the casual lean of his body betrayed a kind of informal joviality that wouldn't have been entirely out of place in an L. catalogue; in this context, Audrey couldn't help but feel it was… _odd_.

"See you then," she said, trying to sound upbeat. He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face, and as the doors closed between them, she leaned against the wall of the elevator, struggling to compose herself.

Donna leaned against the passenger side of her father's car smoking a long, thin cigarette. When she saw Audrey, she smiled and stubbed it out against the side of the concrete ashtray she had parked beside; but as Audrey neared, her facial expression becoming readable, Donna lost her grin.

"Hey," she said. "Everything okay?"

Audrey faked it but she felt no happiness. Instead, she slipped into the front seat of the car, her small bag of personal effects on her lap. Without a word, Donna started the car and the two drove off silently along Falls Street for the half a mile between Calhoun Memorial and the Hayward home.


	3. Friends

****A/N: Sorry for the delay in updates. Life has a way of getting off track, and the best laid plans often come to nothing in the end. However, this story means a lot to me and I want to finish it in a timely manner. So I am going to double down on my efforts to get it finished.**

 **I've made a few edits to the previous two chapters-minor things, mostly in tone-so you may want to read those once more to get a feel for where the story left off before diving into this one. I hope you enjoy it!****

* * *

Doctor Hayward met them at the door.

"Audrey, dear," he said as he wrapped her in a gentle embrace, one that shocked Audrey for its warm paternalism. She couldn't remember the last time her own father had hugged her like that.

"Hi Doctor Hayward."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," she said, setting her bag down on the floor at her feet. "I'm really so grateful that you and Mrs. Hayward are letting me stay here for a while. It won't be too long. My mom is out of town and—"

Tears filled the doctor's eyes. "Audrey, after everything that's happened, between your father and I…"

"It's okay, Doctor Hayward. You don't need to say any more."

The good doctor's smile was shaky, but when he clasped her hand between his, Audrey felt strength there, and all at once and for the first time in a long while, she felt as though things might just be okay after all.

At that moment, Eileen Hayward rounded the corner form the living room. Arms outstretched, she beckoned Audrey towards her for a hug, and Audrey obliged, bending low despite her pain to embrace Donna's mother in her chair.

"Audrey, I hope you like meatloaf," she said. "Dinner should be ready in about 45 minutes."

Audrey smiled. "Of course," she said, looking between the two of them. "Thank you, so much."

"You're welcome, dear," Eileen beamed. With her husband at her side, they were the perfect picture of domestic bliss, even in spite of all the recent tumultuous events.

Donna stepped up beside Audrey. "Dad, did you bring down the camp cot from the attic?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "And Harriet laid out some fresh bed linens and towels for Audrey."

"Thanks Dad," Donna cooed, and she walked up and kissed her father on the cheek. Audrey was mesmerized; a functional family, even one so recently passing through unrest and pain was something of a miracle to her eyes. She sighed, and in the process drew attention from three sets of eyes in the foyer.

"You must be exhausted," Eileen said. "Donna, why don't you take her up and show her to your room. She can get unpacked and—"

"Oh, I didn't bring too much with me, just the clothes I was wearing the day of the explosion," Audrey said, looking down at the shirt and skirt she was wearing now, adding softly: "This is Donna's."

"I thought it looked familiar," Eileen smiled.

"I'll send for a few things today from the house," Audrey continued.

"We'll make sure you get what you need," the elderly doctor replied. "Run along. We'll call you when dinner is ready."

Donna led the way, up the stairs and to her room. Audrey saw Donna's bed, a few embroidered throw pillows and teddy bears still clinging to life on the bedspread; next to it was a simple but soft and inviting cot, made up with sheets and thick pillows and a pink quilt, ready to be slept in.

How nice, she thought, as Donna gave Audrey a moment of privacy; Audrey relished the quiet, the solitude. This'll do, she smiled as she sank onto the cot and rested her heavy eyes. Just for a moment…

A regular meal, around a regular table, with Donna's chatty sisters Harriet and Gersten, was enough to keep Audrey quietly enthralled for the duration of their time together. When supper was finished and Audrey and Donna stole away to Donna's room again, Audrey sighed.

"Do you have dinner like that every night?"

Donna nodded. "Yeah, for the most part. Why? Don't you eat dinner with your family?"

Audrey sank onto the bed, mindful of the bruised ribs. "At my house? Dinner is never this nice," she said. "Usually Daddy is on the phone. Mother doesn't say much and neither does Johnny, you know…so unless Uncle Jerry is around, things are pretty quiet." Audrey smiled. "So this is nice. Your parents, your sisters. It's all very…nice."

"Nice, nice," Donna laughed. "Do you need a thesaurus, Audrey?"

Audrey touched the hair at her temple, feeling a hot blush rising in her cheeks. "I'm just tired, I think."

"You can get ready for bed if you'd like."

"Isn't it too early?"

"If you're tired, you should sleep."

"But I have medications to take—" Audrey began to rummage through her bag. "Oh, no! I forgot to get someone to bring me clothes! It's too late now for that…"

Without another word Donna went to her bureau. "I'm sure I have pyjamas that would fit. And tomorrow I'll take you back for a few things."

"You're being so nice to me."

Donna paused, a half smile on her face. "It's nothing. Well…it's not nothing, it's something. I like helping. I'm glad to help."

"But…why?"

Donna stilled her hands in the pyjama drawer and shrugged her shoulders. "I'd like to be your friend, Audrey."

Audrey considered. "I don't have many friends."

"Then it seems we could use each other right about now," Donna said.

Audrey nodded—everything was so matter of fact, and she liked that. Head high, she pulled the bottle of pills from her bag and stood up, excusing herself to find the bathroom.

Staring at herself in the mirror over the sink, Audrey took a deep breath. Still faced with cuts and bruises, she didn't like what she saw; but once again, she was awash in the very strong relief that at least the face she saw was her own. Where is that coming from? she wondered. She splashed some water on her face and dried it on the sleeve of her—no, Donna's—sweater and poured a glass to take the pills with.

All at once, she remembered the faraway discomfort of her encounter in the hallway with Agent Cooper. Her skin crawled and shivers ran up her spine as she remembered the pain of his embrace and the strange look that had come over him as they'd parted ways. But she was too tired to give it much thought. Turning out the light, she cast her reflection in darkness; with sluggish feet, she dragged herself back to Donna's room, and found that Donna had pulled out a warm flannel two piece pyjama set, and had laid it out on the bed next to Audrey's pillow.

Audrey slipped into the set—a tad too long in the arms and legs, designed to fit Donna's lankier frame—and she crawled into bed. The sun had already set over the horizon, its descent getting later and later every day. The last vestiges of sunglow seeped through the slats in the blinds as Audrey drifted off, in the comfort of a borrowed bed, in a borrowed room, living the borrowed life of a woman she had never particularly been friendly with but who, by a strange twist of fate, might actually be the closest thing to a sister Audrey had ever known.

She did need a friend. And Donna seemed willing to oblige. That was enough for her.

* * *

 _"Audrey, I'm standing in a room approximately two hundred and fifty square feet in size. The floor is tiled in black and white in a zig-zag pattern. Hundreds of endless chevrons stretching on across the room in such a manner as to confound the senses. The effect is disorienting, though I appear to have gotten used to it. The walls are made of red velvet curtains, heavy and thick. They do not appear to be fastened to the ceiling. In fact, there does not appear to be a ceiling. The only room dividers at all are these curtains, and from small openings in between you can step into what can charitably be called a corridor—though I say charitably because corridors usually lead somewhere, and these lead only to the same room. Or maybe it's not the same room. It's very hard to tell. Apart from the furniture or lack thereof, there are no appreciable differences in what I find._

 _"In the room I am currently standing in, there are three armchairs, one of which sits at a right angle to the other two, framing a kind of conversation area. The chairs are large, but not overstuffed. Tasteful in an art deco style, upholstered in velvet. Comfortable. There is a side table next to the solo arm chair. It appears to be made of a black acrylic or very highly polished material designed to give the appearance of acrylic. It has chrome legs. Again, clean art deco lines are the order of the day. On the table sits a lamp in the shape of a globe that would not have been out of place in FDR's private study. The two armchairs are flanked by two tall floor lamps, bell-shaped at the top. Behind that, more or less against the curtains, is a statue of the Venus de Milo. I can't imagine that this is an original, as there are at least two more, in the corridor outside and in the other room that connects off of the corridor…"_

* * *

"Audrey!" Donna hissed. "Wake up, Audrey!"

Audrey sat bolt upright in bed, feeling sweat standing up against her forehead and dampening the middle of her back. She pressed a hand to her face and gasped for air, choking on sobs that wracked her slender frame.

"Where am I?"

Donna reached over and grabbed Audrey's hand. "You're at my house. You were having a nightmare."

"I was?"

Audrey squeezed Donna's hand, and Donna stood up. "Do you want some water?"

Audrey's silence was answer enough, and Donna tiptoed to the door and then out into the bathroom across the hall, grabbing a glass of water and a damp facecloth. When she returned, she sat on the edge of Audrey's cot and handed her both items.

Audrey drank half the glass. "Oh god, what time is it?"

Donna leaned back and sat on the edge of her bed. "It's one-thirty in the morning," she said. "You were crying."

Audrey shook her head, trying to recall. "I don't know," she said. "I don't remember anything."

"You were begging someone to follow you, but he was sleeping or wouldn't wake up. And then it sounded like he did wake up," Donna paused. "That's when you were seemed really frightened."

Audrey shivered. "I've had that dream before, when I was in the hospital," she admitted. "It was Agent Cooper. He was in my dream. I'm sure I was talking to him."

"Really?" Donna asked, turning and moving until she was sitting on her own bed again. "What were you talking about?"

Audrey pressed the damp cloth to her temples and ran them under eyes before leaning back down on her pillow. "I don't remember. I never remember, not really. Bits and pieces. More like…feelings? But I've been having these dreams, almost every night since I first woke up in the hospital."

"What do you remember?"

Audrey stared at the ceiling. "Everything happens in a red room. All red, but with this checkered floor—no, not really checkered…like zig zags. Black and white." she said, tracing tiny v-shapes in the air in front of her. "There are people there. Weird people, like this little dancing man and this very tall guy. And the guy everyone thought killed Laura, the one with the long hair?" Audrey paused. "Laura is there, too."

"Laura?"

"Mm-hmm. Sometimes," Audrey said. "And Mr Palmer too. And that waitress from the diner, she was there once—Annie something or other. The one who was dating Agent Cooper…" She trailed off, the pain of that long-distant disgrace rearing up in her mind.

Donna squeezed Audrey's hand back. "That sounds really frightening."

"But it's more than that."

"More?"

Audrey nodded. "It's like…it's like I'm there, you know? Like it's a real place or something. I feel like…at times I feel like I'm watching everything happen, but there are other times when I feel like they know I'm there watching. Especially Agent Cooper. He looks at me like he can see me. And I hear him talk to me…"

"Well, I'm sure it's just a dream. I know Agent Cooper is in the real world, in the here and now, and he's being released from the hospital tomorrow."

"I know. I saw him today."

Donna's eyes widened and her already hushed voice dropped to a bare, excited whisper. "Really? How is he?"

Audrey ran the question over in her mind. How is he? Memories of watching him sleep flooded back to her, his placid countenance a stark contrast to the face she saw as the elevator doors closed on him that afternoon. She couldn't reconcile the two Dales so easily…

"Audrey?"

With a start, Audrey blinked and focused on Donna again. "He's awake. I suppose that's a start."

A wicked grin cut across Donna's face. "Is he still dashing as ever?"

Audrey smiled, and Donna laughed, which made Audrey laugh too, and soon the two were giggling like middle schoolers up late on a sleepover. Audrey couldn't remember the last time she felt so carefree.

When the giggles subsided and the soft quiet of the room surrounded them both once again, Audrey cleared her throat.

"Donna, can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"You have to promise you won't tell a soul!"

In the dim light, Audrey could see Donna make the 'cross my heart' motion with her hand. "Not a soul."

"Agent Cooper and I…we were very close, a little while back."

Donna cocked her head to the side. "That's not exactly a secret, Audrey."

"I know," Audrey shook her head. "I mean…we were closer than anyone realized, I think. I got myself in a lot of trouble up at One Eyed Jack's—this brothel across the border, it's a really long story—but he saved me from it. Just swooped in, like a knight or something. And I don't know, we just…he was so kind and caring, and he's so handsome…and after Mr Palmer died I went to see him. I sensed that he was upset, and he was, and one thing led to another and—"

Donna gasped. "Audrey!" she giggled after a moment before continuing. "You really did?"

"Actually…a couple of times."

Donna stifled her giggles against her hand. "Oh my god," she said. "Well? What was it like?"

Audrey shrugged and then sighed. "It was…well gosh Donna, it's sex, you know?"

"Not really."

Audrey turned to consider Donna in the darkness. "Oh," she whispered. "I just assumed…what with you and Mike and all…"

Donna rolled her eyes. "Mike's idea of foreplay was unzipping his fly."

Audrey scratched a spot next to her nose and continued. "Agent Cooper—"

"Do you call him that? Agent Cooper?"

Audrey grinned. "No, I mean…I didn't, not when we were—you know. Then, he was Dale."

"Dale," Donna giggled. "Well, how was Dale?"

Audrey sighed against her remembrances. "He was everything I had ever hoped for, Donna. A gentleman, sweet and charming, but a man who knows what to do when it comes right down to it."

Donna sighed. "Sounds romantic."

"It was. In its own way."

"What happened?"

Audrey shrugged. "A lot of things. Mostly he was worried about my safety, with his partner on the loose, sending us poetry…"

"His partner?" Donna asked. "From the FBI?"

Audrey nodded. "It's not really my story to tell. He didn't want me to get hurt, and he was convinced I was in harm's way as long as he was in my life. We only really had a few good days together…"

"But now what? Everything will go back to normal and he'll leave town?"

"Every time that happens, he ends up staying," she whispered. But in her mind's eye she could see him, leering at her in the hospital doorway, and she shuddered in spite of herself. She knew he had been injured, and that head trauma could cause all kinds of weird personality shifts. It was a logical explanation; he would return to normal in no time. Or maybe he'll stay the way he is and the new Agent Cooper won't be able to resist me,she thought with a blush. It was sobering, but electrifying, all at once.

"I don't know what to expect anymore," Audrey finished finally. "I'm just going to take it as it comes, whatever it is."

Donna seemed impressed. "Audrey Horne…"

Audrey turned over then, carefully, to look at Donna. "Do you really think we could be sisters?"

Donna turned to face Audrey. They were less than two feet apart in Donna's long and narrow room; Audrey could make out the shine of Donna's hair and the line of her nose outlined in moonbeams. Donna took a deep breath—Audrey could hear it, could see the comforter lift with the inhale—and spoke.

"I don't know Audrey," she said. "But even though I know what it would do to my family, a part of me kind of hopes so…"

Audrey smiled. "Me too." It was a comforting thought. She'd always wanted a sister…

Finally Donna yawned. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah," Audrey cooed.

"Okay," came Donna's reply. "Goodnight Audrey."

Audrey's yawn stifled her words. She sighed against her hand and closed her eyes. "Good night, Donna."

Before long, they'd both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 _"...The air here is still, and thick. Electrified, it feels like. There is no wind. I think it's like the song, Audrey: you don't know what you've got until it's gone. I never knew what a simple thrill it was to feel a breeze against my face. Or to look up at the night sky and see stars. There are no stars here. Just endless seas of red curtains. If I ever get out of here, I'm going to sit on a tropical beach and revel in an ocean breeze scented by coconut and the kinds of fruit you make slushy drinks out of._

 _"Sometimes there are people in this room. Souls, maybe. Annie and Caroline. Laura. Leland Palmer. The man they call BOB. And others, people who are still very much among the living. Sarah Palmer. Major Briggs._

 _"You._

 _"You visit, but you don't belong here, and so you don't stay long. But I can feel you. I think you're dreaming, Audrey. This is where I came when I was dreaming, of that I am certain. Now, I find, there are others, like me and you, who go here when they slumber. I am endeavouring to reach you. I need to reach you. I do not know what to make of this place except that it is a kind of waiting room. A waiting room for what, I can't say. My guess would be that this is the Threshold, and these are the Dwellers. And that thought gives me no hope. For I met my Shadow Self, Audrey, and I met him with imperfect courage. And he has, I fear, escaped into the real world. What does that mean for the people he meets? For me? I can't say. I can't even begin to know…But be careful, Audrey. Please, for the love of God, be careful…"_


	4. Morning

**Saturday April 1**

 **9:30 AM**

Sheriff Truman's sigh landed heavy on his desk as he replaced the phone receiver on the cradle and mentally tallied up the number of April Fools' calls he'd already fielded. He squished his thumb and forefinger against his eyes and pressed the button on the desk intercom.

"Lucy," he barked. "We've gotta do a better job screening incoming calls."

"Sorry, Sheriff Truman."

"Don't wanna be talking about Sasquatch all damn day…" he said to no one in particular as he shuffled through a stack of papers and drained the last of his coffee.

"Sheriff Truman?"

"What?"

"I was just going to buzz you when you buzzed in to me, but I was on the other line, and so you got to it first, but now that I'm off the phone, I thought—"

"Lucy," Truman's voice was stern but gentle; anything to hurry her to her point was a good thing, so long as it was delivered with kindness.

"Right," she said. "Agent Rosenfield and Agent Cole are here to see you."

The news lightened the load he felt squatting on his shoulders. He sighed. "Send 'em in."

But before he'd had the chance to get up, the two FBI Agents had already come through the door. Truman rounded the desk and met Albert with a friendly, back-slapping embrace, before he shook hands with the senior Agent-in-Charge.

"Well," Truman said. "It's good to have you here."

"WE JUST GOT HERE," Gordon shouted.

Truman nodded. _Right,_ he thought. _Forgot about that._ "HOW WAS YOUR FLIGHT?"

"LOOKING FORWARD TO IT, SHERIFF TRUMAN," Cole replied. "BUT I'M KEEN TO SEE HOW COOP'S DOING?"

Truman grinned and shook his head, looking to Albert for a continuation of the conversation.

"How's he doing?"

"Better," Truman said, flashing an O-K sign at Agent Cole to aid understanding. "HE'S GETTING OUT SOON. MAYBE EVEN TODAY."

"Good," Albert nodded.

Truman made a gesture towards the door. "I'm heading up to the hospital soon if you fellas wanna join me?"

"WHEN CAN WE SEE 'IM, SHERIFF?"

Albert hid his bemusement. "SHERIFF TRUMAN'S HEADING UP THERE NOW."

"SEE I'VE GOT A LOTTA QUESTIONS, SHERIFF," Gordon continued. "WHAT HAPPENED TO AGENT EARLE? HOW'S THE GIRL? IT'S ALL IN THE DETAILS, SEE, AND THE DETAILS ARE IN COOP'S NOGGIN AND COOP'S NOGGIN ALONE." He tapped the tip of his index finger into his forehead twice.

"Well, like I said," Truman began before raising his voice for Gordon's benefit. "I'M HEADING UP TO THE HOSPITAL SOON IF YOU WANNA JOIN ME—"

"SURE DO APPRECIATE IT, SHERIFF, BUT FIRST THING'S FIRST," Gordon interrupted. "IS THAT ANGEL SHELLY JOHNSON STILL OVER AT THE DOUBLE R?"

Truman nodded. "In fact she's holdin' down the fort until Norma—"

"BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I'VE GOT _MUCHO HAMBRE_ FOR SOME SASKATOON BERRY PIE."

Truman grabbed his coat. "Breakfast first, then Calhoun." He added: "AND I'M BUYING."

Gordon flashed him a thumbs up and marched back out the door. Albert shook his head.

"You ever considered a job with the FBI?" Albert asked.

Truman shook his head. "I'm not sure I'd pass muster."

"Yeah," Albert replied. "Well, without you, who'd keep the law in this Podunk town, right?"

Truman laughed and clapped a hand on the other man's shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Albert."

Albert "What can I say? I guess I missed you folks."

He walked out of the room after Agent Cole, and Truman stood on the threshold of his office, he was hit with the strangest sense of déjà-vu, followed by the most incredible sense of nostalgia for the beginning of his friendship with Agent Cooper.

 _He's on his way back,_ Truman reminded himself as he set his hat on his head, satisfied, and stalked out of his office after the FBI Agents.

* * *

 **Meanwhile, across town…**

Doc Hayward tucked his stethoscope back into the black medical bag and snapped it shut. "Well, Audrey, your lungs seem clear and your heart rate and blood pressure are stabilized. Apart from the bumps and bruises, you're doing remarkably well." "I feel like it," she answered, scooping her hair behind her ears and out of her face.

"That's real good," the doctor said. He held out his finger in front of him, and Audrey followed it as he moved it left and right, up and down. "Any headaches? Blurred or double vision?"

"No. Well, maybe a headache. But I haven't been drinking coffee lately so maybe it's caffeine-withdrawal."

Doc Hayward pulled out a pen to write in his leather-bound notebook. "A girl your age shouldn't be drinking that much coffee," he chastised.

"I _am_ eighteen, Doctor Hayward."

He nodded with a grin. "So you are," he said, clicking the pen and returning it to the pocket inside the cover of the book before shutting it. "So you are."

She shrugged and massaged her hands into her knees. "So what's next then?" "You're doing remarkably well, all things considered. I'd like to see you in a week or so, make sure everything is still a-ok, but—."

Audrey nodded. "Do you want me to go home?"

Doc Hayward easily sussed out her meaning. He looked up at her, kind eyes smiling. "Audrey, Mrs. Hayward and I are more than happy to let you stay here as long as you'd like. I hope you know that. Our home is your home."

Audrey smiled. "Thank you," she said, her voice caught in the back of her throat, coming out thin and soft when it broke free.

Doc Hayward patted a hand on Audrey's knee. "You're welcome, dear."

He stood up then, hoisting his bag to his side. Audrey stood up and smoothed her hands down over the front of the skirt she'd borrowed from Donna—the second in two days, though once Donna returned from the store with the things her mother had sent her for, the pair were heading back up to the Great Northern to fetch a bag of Audrey's things, so the closet-raiding was near an end. She watched as the doctor turned to walk out of the room, chewing her lip until the right moment to ask the question that had been burning the back of her throat since she first saw him that morning at the family breakfast table.

"Doctor Hayward?" she ventured. "How's my father?"

Doc Hayward paused. "I'm not entirely sure, Audrey. For obvious reasons, I'm not his attending physician." He looked at her. "Have you not been to see him?" She shook her head, her mass of soft waves swaying around her face. "Not for a few days." She continued to chew on her lip. "Does that make me a bad daughter?"

He chuckled lightly and patted her arm. "No, Audrey. It makes you a human being. And a conflicted one. No one can fault you for that."

"I think I should bring some flowers down, huh. For the nursing staff. As a thank you, maybe?

"I think that would be a nice gesture."

Audrey mentally added it to her growing to-do list. "Oh," she ventured. "And how is Agent Cooper doing?" He stopped and turned around. "He's well," he said with a glance at his wristwatch. "He should be heading home, if I know the hospital staff well enough, which I do." The doctor chuckled. "He's a hard man to keep down. Wants to get out and back to work as soon as he can."

Audrey's heartbeat skipped as she was filled with nerves and excitement. "That's good news."

Doc Hayward nodded. "You two are quite good friends, aren't you?"

Audrey struggled to hide her blushing and devised a cover for her interest in the lawman. "I'm considering a career in law enforcement, actually. He's kind of the inspiration for that, I guess."

Doc Hayward nodded wisely. "Is that so? Well, he's a fine man, and a good officer of the law. I'm sure there's a lot you can learn from him."

"That's the idea."

The doctor smiled knowingly before winking. "I'm heading back over to the hospital in about half an hour. Eileen usually puts on a fresh pot of coffee about now for me. I still think you're a bit too young to be drinking it, but I can pour you a cup if you'd like."

She had to admit that coffee sounded divine. "That would be just about perfect right now."

"Good," he said with a crooked smile, and he strode off into the kitchen, his bag at his side. Audrey sat down again, perching on the edge of a footstool, and crossed her legs in front of her. She bounced her foot up and down, watching the slim line of her ankle as it bobbed in the air. She wiggled her toes inside her patent leather Oxfords and breezed through a tiny sneeze that left her nose wet, then dabbed at it with a tissue hidden within her sleeve, listening to the sounds of the kitchen while her nostrils filled with the scent of the blackest coffee…


	5. Re-entry

**1:34pm**

Agent Cooper took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the warm April air. "Fellas, I can't tell you how good it feels to be outside again."

"They don't let you have recess in the hospital?" Albert joked.

Truman held the door open for the party, and Cooper was the first to walk into the station. "You know, apart from the lack of fresh air, my time at Calhoun Memorial was quite enjoyable. For one thing, the food—while far from gourmet—has undergone a miraculous transformation since the last time I spent any appreciable time there."

Truman curled his lips in disgust. "Really?"

His comment went unanswered as the flurry of movement filled the foyer. Lucy bounded out from behind the reception desk partition to throw her arms around the FBI Agent. Deputies Hawk and Andy glad-handed their friend, and various other deputies came over to extend their well-wishes.

"It's so good to have you back," Lucy cried, swiping at tears in her eyes.

Cooper patted her shoulder. "It's good to be back," he said, pulling a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his overcoat and handing it to her.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm crying and getting all blubbery. My doctor says it's probably the hormones, but I think I'm just overly emotional from what's been happening on _Invitation to Love_ , to be honest, because Jade is pregnant too, and she thinks the father is dead, but really he's just been in hiding because he owes money to this nefarious Eastern syndicate—Eastern as in New Jersey, mind you—and, y'see, Emerald knows where he is but she can't tell Jade because—"

Cooper held up his hand. "Lucy, congratulations on the baby," he said.

She blushed. "Thank you, Agent Cooper."

Andy stepped forward then. "And I'm gonna be the daddy," he said. "Can you believe it, Agent Cooper? A real live dad!"

Cooper grinned. "Well I don't think this could happen to a more deserving couple."

Andy beamed at Lucy, and she smiled back at him, and Truman led Cooper finally into his office and away from the throng, where Hawk and Albert closed the door.

"Quite the madhouse out there," Hawk said.

Cooper shook his head. "It's a little much, I think," he said. "And that's not false modesty talking. I was only gone for a week."

"You saved Annie's life," Hawk said. "That's nothing to sneeze at."

Cooper's face went from open and expressive to guarded in a matter of seconds. The whiplash alone made Truman's head spin.

"How is Annie?" he asked. "I meant to stop in and see her today before I left but it was a little bit crazy trying to get everything in order and—"

Hawk glanced to Truman, and Truman cleared his throat. "Norma took Annie to a private hospital and research facility in Portland this morning," he said.

Cooper sank into the chair in front of Truman's desk. "Oh."

Truman nodded, but furrowed his brow. Cooper's reactions to things had been strange all day. Upon seeing Gordon and Albert at the hospital, Cooper had acted strangely cold. Perturbed, even. He had insisted that Gordon needn't have made the trip to see him and had him book a flight back immediately, saying that there were more pressing matters in Philadelphia that must need his attention more than the recovery of his lead Blue Rose agent. _Whatever blue roses have to do with it,_ Truman thought, _that certainly wasn't expected behaviour from a man like Dale Cooper…_

Albert had also noticed the shift, and he made sure Truman knew he'd noticed it too. The two of them went along with him, though, and Albert arranged for the flight back to Philly for Agent Cole, and one for himself a few days later, which seemed to settle Cooper's mind from its state of agitation.

 _It's the blow to the head. It's whatever happened in there. It'll all pass,_ Truman reassured himself as he cleared his throat. "Calhoun is a fine hospital," he said. "But it's not equipped to deal with severe neurological trauma. She needed more care than the doctors here could give her, and Norma was able to get her in so—"

Cooper began to rub his hands along the front of his trousers, up and down his thighs from his knee almost right to his hip. He continued this repetitive motion for several seconds before taking a deep breath and slowing down, and eventually he rested his hands on his kneecaps and sighed. "I was worried about her. I just want her to be safe."

Truman hoped he was hiding his perplexity. "She will be. With Norma."

Cooper nodded, closing his eyes for a moment and taking another deep breath. "Douglas firs," he sighed. "Is there any scent on earth more heavenly?"

Albert perched on the edge of Truman's desk. "Coop, I'm gonna level with you. Gordon was perfectly within his right to request that you ride the pine for a few weeks until you get back on your feet."

Cooper shook his head but his eyes flashed. "Why, Albert? I feel fine."

"That may be true," he continued. "But it's against protocol to let an agent back on the job so soon after an injury sustained in the line of duty. You know that as well as I do."

Cooper scoffed. "It's practically healed," he said, lifting the corner of the taped bandage covering the forehead wound, sustained in the Great Northern bathroom a week earlier, to reveal a greenish-purple stain of bruises and three poker straight stitches holding the skin together over the most serious gash.

"I understand that, Coop," Albert wavered. "But the issue isn't necessarily the physical trauma. There has to be downtime, mentally, to get sorted out."

"Downtime?" Cooper chuckled. "Downtime. Okay. So I should—what?—sit in the hotel and watch TV? Maybe get Doc Hayward to prescribe me some valium? Or just take some chamomile tea before bed with a couple of sleeping pills." He stood up, obviously angered, and strode to the window beside Harry's desk, leaning on the sill and peering through the blinds before gesturing broadly towards the view. "Or maybe I could just bask in the recuperative power of these majestic woods. Go for a walk in the morning, again in the evening. That worked really well for Major Briggs last time I checked."

Truman observed his friend stalking the room, like a caged apex predator. He'd never seen him act like this; clearly, Albert hadn't either. And neither one of them knew what to say, but Truman was more than happy to hear Hawk's voice next.

"Agent Cooper," he said, his voice calm. "It's not that we don't want you around if that's what you're worried about. It's that we want you be healthy, safe, and at the top of your game."

Cooper had stilled himself in front of the window again, staring out over the expanse. His shoulders sat hunched tightly against the sides of his neck for a long moment as he white-knuckled the windowsill, his whole body projecting his anger. But as the moment dragged on, he sighed, his shoulders sagged again, and his head dropped limp against his chest.

"I know," he said, with a defeated finality that pierced Truman to his core.

Albert stepped forward. "Coop, if you're anything like me, you won't feel at the top of your game if you're on the sidelines. We don't have any plans to keep you from work if that's what you need to keep busy. There are things you can do for us that don't involve field work but that are still incredibly helpful to this ongoing investigation."

Cooper nodded. "I appreciate that," he said. "Really, I do."

Truman joined them, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Maybe take the rest of today to settle back in and just…regroup. Tomorrow, we'll see where we're at and how you feel." He glided his hand in front of him. "Ease back into things."

Cooper nodded, a gentle but firm smile on his lips. "Okay, Harry."

Truman clapped his hand on Cooper's shoulder. "I'll take you back up to the hotel—"

But Cooper cut him off. "Do I still have my rental car?"

Truman nodded. "Audrey had it brought back to the station sometime before the explosion at the bank," he said. "It's in the parking lot out back."

Cooper smiled. "I'd like to be able to drive myself back, if it's all the same to you." He stood up a bit straighter and, with trembling fingers, straightened his suit coat. "Doesn't help one feel like a contributing member of society if they can't even be trusted behind the wheel of his own car."

Truman hazarded a glance at Albert, who seemed as unsure as him about whether or not Cooper should be behind the wheel of an automobile. But finally the sheriff reached over into the top drawer of his desk and retrieved the rental car keys Audrey had left with him. He handed them to Cooper. "She's all yours."

Cooper beamed, jingling the keys in his hand. "Fellas, I feel like a new man. I really do. And the moment you think there's something I can help you with, don't hesitate to call."

"Until tomorrow," Truman replied.

Cooper extended his thumb. "Aces."

Agent Rosenfield stepped to the side as the bemused Agent Cooper strolled past him and out into the foyer.

"He's not himself," Albert muttered, "Not by a long shot."

"He's been through a lot."

"Do you really think he ought to be driving?"

Truman watched Cooper bow theatrically to Lucy as he passed on his way out the door. "It's a Saturday in Twin Peaks. There's a cheer competition at the high school. The lakes'll be crowded with fishermen and hikers. Cooper won't see five cars total on his way up the mountain."

"But it _is_ April Fools Day."

Truman glanced at the desktop calendar perched next to the intercom, which buzzed as if on cue.

"Sheriff Truman? I've got another call about Bigfoot…"


	6. Desperation

**2:37 pm**

At the same moment Donna pulled the family station wagon into the driveway of the Great Northern Hotel, Audrey watched the valet parking attendant pull away in Agent Cooper's rental car. Donna's words faded into the hum of the engine as Audrey's heartbeat pounded in her ears.

 _He's here…_

She wasn't frightened, but she wasn't totally excited either. Curious, confused, alert. She wanted to see her Special Agent and she also wanted to know what had happened to make him change. Most of all, she wanted him back. And knowing that he was in the hotel filled her with determination.

"Audrey? Are you listening to me?"

"Donna, sorry…" Audrey shook her head and smiled. "I'm in Dreamland. What were you saying?"

"That I'll wait here, or park in the lot if they ask me to move, so just look for me over there if I'm not right here—"

"You know? I might take a little while, and I don't want you to waste your Saturday afternoon waiting for me. I'll just get someone to chauffeur me back when I'm done."

Donna tugged on an itchy earlobe. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Donna scanned Audrey's face, and Audrey struggled to keep the veneer up under such close scrutiny.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

Audrey glanced towards the doors and then back at her friend. "How about I fill you in tonight when I get back, okay?"

Donna smiled. "Okay. As long as you're sure."

"Absolutely," she replied as she slid out the door and onto the pavement. She quickly shut the door behind her, and waited while Donna drove off, willing her heart to stay beating within her chest for just a few more minutes. Her palms were damp, and she was using the top third of her lungs only.

Audrey closed her eyes. _Relax!_ she urged herself. But all she could think about was the memory of his kiss, and his grip on her in front of the elevators…

With a shake of her head, she turned on her heel and strode into the lobby of her father's hotel. The regular chorus of "Good day, Miss Horne!" greeted her as she walked the length of the lobby and into the foyer that separated the restaurant from the hotel elevator bank. A large Haida-carved mirror stood opposite her, and she took the opportunity to fix her appearance. Donna's mustard-coloured sweater was not exactly Audrey's best colour, but against the green plaid wool skirt it was quite striking, and Audrey liked the contrast. She fluffed up the right side of her hair, then the left, willing her natural waves to stay put—Donna's hairspray was not as strong as Audrey's own.

 _It'll be so nice to have my own things,_ she thought, pinching her cheeks and scrubbing a fingertip over her lower lip. _My own makeup, my own clothes, my own—_

"Hello, Audrey."

Startled, Audrey's attention split from her face in the mirror to the reversed image of Agent Cooper standing a short distance over her right shoulder. She smiled, composed herself, and turned around.

"Agent Cooper. You're back."

"In the flesh, amongst the living," he offered.

"How do you feel?"

He took a step forward, dodging her question. "Audrey, I must apologize for my actions yesterday. I didn't mean to frighten you. I guess I'm not much like myself right now…" he touched a hand to the small bandage on his forehead.

Audrey swallowed. "It's okay, Agent Cooper—"

He looked down at his shoes and then back up at her. "How I wish you'd call me Dale again…"

She smiled. "I'm really confused. Before…before all of this happened, you and I agreed to be friends. You made it perfectly clear that we—that this, whatever this was between us, couldn't happen, and now—"

"A lot has happened between then and now, Audrey."

"I know," she nodded. "But somewhere deep down you must still feel the things you said before are true. On some level."

Cooper sighed and dipped his hands into his pockets as he rocked on his heels. Audrey had never seen him so bashful before. "What I told you before, it was true. Every word, and now more than ever. My desire to keep you safe has never— _ever_ —changed. But…"

His face changed, conflicted to sad to hopeful to pained, in the space his voice had vacated. She hated that he'd stopped talking. "But what?" she urged.

"But—when I was…wherever I was…and even before that…I could have died, I know that. I've put my life in grave danger more often in the last month than I necessarily needed to, and I freely admit that my actions—while ultimately successful and in the service of the greater good—were foolish. Do you know how I knew that?"

She shook her head, and he took a step closer to her, pulled his hands from his pockets and reached them into the space between their bodies, hesitant and seeking permission from her with his eyes before he touched her arms, just above the bend in her elbows.

"Because when I hold you, and I think about never holding you in my arms ever again—I can't live like that."

"But—"

"I don't want to live in a world where you exist, knowing that you could have been in my life and I somehow stopped that from happening."

Audrey smiled, his possessives filling her with hope that her feelings for him were still reciprocated after all.

He ran his hands up her arms and back down again, his movements deliberate, gentle and slow. "I-I realized how foolish I'd been to think that pushing you away was the best way to keep you safe."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I want a second chance. With you. If you'll have me."

Audrey cocked her head to the side and pushed her tongue against the back of her teeth as she fought the words that wanted to spill from her mouth. Ultimately, she lost the battle. "What about Annie?"

Cooper's eyes sparked at the mention of her name, their edges hardening slightly as he narrowed them and pulled back and away from her. He looked like a dog, taunted and slapped on the nose and rallying a defence. "Well _you_ had someone, didn't you?"

Audrey blushed. "Are you mad at me?"

He softened considerably before opening his mouth once again. "I'm not—I'm—I'm sorry, Audrey. I'm really not myself these days…"

"Agent Cooper—"

He crumpled, visibly, his shoulders sagging just enough that the perfect lines of his suit creased and sagged, and his already drawn face became pallid as his eyes filled with tears.

"Please, I'm begging you: call me Dale. Please, Audrey."

The urgency in his voice was heart-breaking. She had never seen him so desperate before. And she felt so sorry for not being able to remove him from the state he was in. But her confusion about the entire situation was incredible. She had expected the need to fight her case, not to be pursued so ardently. The mere fact of his about-face was more startling than his sudden passion. Something had happened to him to change him. This was not the same man who had made love to her by moonlight and then pushed her away out of fear.

"D-Dale…I just…I _want_ to believe all of this, what you're saying…"

"You need time," he said, taking a step backwards. "I understand. Completely."

"Dale."

Something in his demeanour had changed yet again. He seemed both more fragile and more self-assured, though how that was possible escaped Audrey entirely. "No, it's okay. Really. I shouldn't have pushed. Of course…after everything we've been through, what's a few more days, right?"

His eyes grew soft and he suddenly seemed so tired and ancient. Audrey wanted to hold him, to take all of his pain away. She didn't know what was stopping her.

"When you're ready, whenever that is, you know where to find me."

"I know," she said.

Cooper smiled, unconvincingly, and took another step back before turning and walking from the foyer towards the elevator bank. When he'd disappeared from view, Audrey clutched her chest and let out the sob she'd been holding in.

 _That was Special Agent Dale Cooper, begging you for a second chance to prove his love to you, and you let him walk away._

"Stupid girl," she whispered to herself.

 _What could you possibly be so afraid of?_


	7. Revelations

That Evening

Agent Rosenfield was preparing for his departure—first to his hotel for a few hours of shuteye and then the next morning to the airfield in Spokane where he had booked himself passage on a flight back to Philadelphia—but he and Sheriff Truman hadn't managed to make it into the vestibule of the Sheriff's department after nearly an hour standing in the lobby, deep in conversation that ran from the philosophical to the mundane and everything in between.

"It seems I'll never quite get out of this town," Albert said finally as he glanced down at his watch and readjusted the attache case in his left hand. "Between the conversation and the pie—"

"You don't _want_ to leave," Truman said.

"I certainly don't want to leave you holding the bag, Harry. But Coop's insistence on my leaving…" he whistled.

Truman sighed. "He sure _was_ insistent."

Albert hesitated. "I don't want to speak ill of a colleague, and I hope you don't get the impression that I have anything but the highest regard for Agent Cooper, but my gut tells me that he's not all right. I'm reluctant to leave without reassurance that this is just temporary."

" _My_ gut tells me it is," Truman replied. "But without serious consideration by a qualified doctor or psychologist, we just won't know."

Albert was staring at a knot in the floorboards. "I wish we knew what really happened wherever it was he went…"

Tucked in the reception booth, Lucy tapped on the glass to get the Sheriff's attention. "Sheriff Truman? I'm going to head home for the night. Is that okay?"

"You go on home, Lucy," Truman smiled. "Good work today."

She blushed and switched off the main phones and the lights before exiting through the side door of her cubicle. "I'm sending calls right through to the conference room. Andy said he was going to be working out of there for the night shift tonight. I hope it's not a busy night. But it is Saturday after all…"

Truman pointed to a yellow sticky note that Lucy had stuck on the flap of her purse. "What's that?"

She followed the line of his arm and gasped. "I almost forgot! Two calls I thought you should know about. One, Sally from the dry cleaners said that her sister didn't come home from work tonight. She wanted to file a missing persons report but I told her that it needs to be twenty-four hours before we can file that, and she wasn't too happy about that. I thought you might want to know, considering everything that's happened around here…you know a missing persons case might not be anything or it might be something…"

"What was the second thing?"

"Betty Briggs called and said the Major would be coming by and that we should expect him—"

Lucy was scarcely able to finish her sentence before Major Garland Briggs hastened through the doors and into the station, a bundle of papers under his arm.

"—Soon," Lucy finished, her mouth falling agape.

"Good evening, Sheriff Truman. Agent Rosenfield. Miss Moran," the Major said. "Pleasantries aside, I must speak with you about a matter of grave import concerning the investigation into the events one week ago at Glastonbury Grove."

Slightly stunned, Sheriff Truman motioned towards his office, and as Agent Rosenfield and Major Briggs made their way in, he turned back to Lucy, who was trudging back into her office.

"Lucy, go home. We can handle things from here."

One corner of her mouth quirked up. "Are you sure, Sheriff Truman?"

He nodded.

She nodded. "There's fresh coffee in the carafe," she pointed at the kitchen, "And all you have to do is push the button on the machine to brew another pot. It's all ready to go. Unless you want decaf, which I still really think you should consider stocking because—"

" _Good night,_ Lucy."

Lucy nodded. "Good night, Sheriff Truman," she said, tucking her coat under her arm and trotting out of the station.

When Truman joined the meeting already in progress in his office, Major Briggs was seated across from the desk while Albert perched on the edge of the windowsill. "Can I get you anything?" he asked as he shut the door behind him. "Coffee? Water?"

Briggs's smile was cordial but forced. "No, thank you, Agent Rosenfield has already offered but I'm fine."

Truman took up his post behind the desk. "Well what can we do for you?"

"It's more a question of how I can help you. Or rather, how the information I have is or is not relevant to your investigation. I assume you are still investigating?"

Truman nodded. "We're investigating what little information we have."

Major Briggs nodded thoughtfully and bowed his head for a moment before continuing: "Over this past week, I have been under the watchful eye of my superiors. They have been observing your investigation for some time and conducting separate investigations for their own purposes, as you are well aware. My continued involvement in those investigations came under their scrutiny as a result of my time as Windom Earle's captive in the woods. Thusly, I was forced to undergo several psychological evaluations to determine my state of mind, which is why I am only bringing this information to you now."

"What information?" Albert asked.

"Last Sunday afternoon, as I was enjoying a quiet meal at the Double R diner, in the company of my wife to celebrate my return, Sarah Palmer was brought in to see me by Doctor Jacoby. She had a message for me."

"A message?" Truman asked.

"She said: _'I'm in the Black Lodge with Dale Cooper. I'm waiting for you.'_ "

At the mention of the Black Lodge, the hair on the back of Truman's neck stood up.

"At the time the message meant very little to me, as I was still recovering my strength of mind. However, during my week at the base, I had much more time to consider her words and determine their meaning."

"And what did you conclude?" Truman asked.

Briggs paused before responding. "Did Agent Cooper go to the Black Lodge?"

Again, the chill down his spine. Truman swallowed. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Have you asked him?"

"He's not exactly in the fittest state of mind, Major," Albert said.

Briggs considered. "No, I wouldn't expect that he would be, not if he survived the trip."

Truman narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, if. Of course he survived it."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you," Major Briggs said. "I may not have been to the Lodges, but I know what dwells there. And I suspect that even the stoutest of hearts can be broken by the encounter."

"You're saying…that Cooper—?" asked Albert.

"It's too early to tell," the Major replied. "He is a man of conviction, integrity, strength. If anyone could survive it, surely he could among them. But without having been there, there's no way to know for certain."

Albert and Truman hung onto the Major's words, waiting for him to continue. When several seconds passed without a sound, Truman nodded his head.

"But?"

Major Briggs seemed to pale, and he shook his head as if clearing away the thoughts within it. "When Sarah Palmer spoke to me, it was not her voice that I heard. I can't rightly say whose voice it was, but my intuition leads me to believe it was one of the Dwellers, speaking through Sarah. And I suspect that it was not a friendly invitation."

Another pause seemed to stretch on for ages before he began again. "I _also_ had a vision."

Albert leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Truman, for his part, sat straight as an iron poker.

The Major continued. "During my last psychological evaluation this morning before I was cleared to return home. A vision of a room with red curtains and several people within it."

"Agent Cooper mentioned a red room," Truman muttered, barely above a whisper.

"He was _there_ ," Briggs said.

"You had this vision _this_ morning?" Albert asked. "Now wait just a minute. Agent Cooper stepped out of Magic Land a week ago and has been laid up at Calhoun Memorial Hospital nearly every day since then. And you're telling us that, in actuality, he wasn't here at all? That the man we spoke to in this very office was a figment of our collective imaginations?"

Major Briggs collected his thoughts. "Agent Rosenfield, I'm not suggesting anything of the sort. I believe that visions can operate on several levels: the literal and the figurative, the past, the present, or the future. My vision could be of something that has happened, is happening, or will happen, and it may be a literal representation or metaphoric. It's up to me to decode it. This is why I came here tonight to speak with you."

" _Break the code, solve the crime_ ," Truman said.

"What was that?" Albert asked.

"Something Cooper used to say back when he first arrived here," Truman replied. "He had dreams—visions, I guess—and he often said that if only he could break the code, he could solve the crime of Laura's murder."

"It would seem that if we break the code of my vision of this red room, we can solve the mystery of what happened there."

Agent Rosenfield seemed skeptical but supportive. "I think I should cancel my flight home."

"And I think we need to make an appointment to see Sarah Palmer as soon as possible." Truman reached over to shake Major Briggs' hand. "You've breathed new life into this investigation."

"I am only sorry that it took me this long to reach you," he said, and as he stood up and walked to the door.

"Major Briggs?" Truman asked. "If it wasn't Sarah Palmer's voice you heard, whose could it have been?"

Major Briggs considered the question. "It was a taunt, like the speaker was playing a game and wanted me to play along. You could tell from the intonation and choice of words," he said, pausing for a moment before continuing. "If I were a betting man, I'd put money on it being Windom Earle."

Truman said goodbye to the Major and thanked him again for coming in, and the two lawmen watched him leave.

"Agent Earle is in this Black Lodge too?" Albert asked with a shake of his head. "If there's a bottom to this, I can't wait to get to it."

"You and me both," Truman said as he turned back to his office door. There, on the desk, was the rolled up paper that Major Briggs had left behind. Truman walked in and grabbed them, thinking he would have time to run out after Briggs' vehicle and return the papers to him. But the Major was already gone by the time Truman made his way to the vestibule again.

"What are those?" Albert asked.

"I don't know," Truman replied, unrolling the papers on the table in the lobby. A series of numbers and letters, in small groupings of five or six digits, filled all three of the chart-sized paper. Truman rolled it back up. "I'm not sure this is meant for our eyes."

"Speak for yourself," Albert joked, but Truman was adamant. He took the papers with him into his office and set them in the corner by a disused filing cabinet.

He'd ask the Major about them in the morning…


	8. Dreams

**10:30pm**

Audrey rested her head down against the pillow for the second night at the Hayward home. It had been slightly less idyllic than the first; the cracks brought out by her father's revelation regarding Donna's parentage one week earlier had begun to show once the younger Hayward daughters—still kept in the dark on the whole matter—had gone about with their evening plans and left Mother, Father, and eldest daughter alone in the kitchen with the dishes. A fight between Donna and her mother started it all. _Well, even that's not exactly true_ , Audrey reminded herself. In realty, tempers had been simmering since Gersten's dessert announcement that Ben had called that afternoon looking for Audrey. Audrey had excused herself at that point, opting to wander the Hayward's back garden for a spell before retiring to Doctor Hayward's office, where she spent the next hour thumbing through anatomy textbooks and old journals before finally going up to Donna's bedroom.

Now, at least the yelling had ceased, having been replaced by sobbing and desperate whispers. But it had been hours and Donna still hadn't come to bed.

Audrey was embarrassed and angry over what her father had done. If Donna truly was his daughter and not Doctor Hayward's, Ben had certainly chosen a terrible and insensitive manner in which to reveal the news.

 _Driven by purely selfish goals, as always_ , Audrey thought to herself. He wanted to see her, that much was made clear by his afternoon phone call to the Hayward home. But a part of Audrey—tainted by years of coming in fifth or sixth place on her father's list of priorities—a part of her couldn't help but wonder if he'd called only to taunt the family that he'd so recently wedged himself into with such dazzling disregard for decency and good sense.

Audrey squeezed her eyes shut and tried to banish the thoughts from her mind. Immediately, the biggest problem in her life flooded back to her, and she wished for a moment that she was still worrying about the state of the Haywards' marriage instead of what to do about Agent Cooper.

She didn't have to worry for long. Exhaustion the likes of which she had never known still lived within her marrow, radiating from her bruised ribs and subsisting on her lack of sleep. Within moments of settling down on the cot next to Donna's bed, her head hit the pillow and she fell fast asleep.

* * *

" _Audrey, I fear my Shadow Self, inhabiting my body, has done something horrible. He was at the hospital tonight. I say he, because that is not me doing those things. But I saw the act committed, watched as my hands committed it. I was powerless to stop it. I realize now that this was a fool's errand, Audrey. You cannot be the one to fix this. It is bigger than you. It is maybe beyond anyone's power to fix…_

" _At this point in time, I do not know how long it has been since I—or, rather, since he—set foot in the room I've seen through his eyes. It could be days. It could be weeks. The events I have seen transpire may be yet to occur, or it is occurring, or it has long since occurred; I have no way of knowing. All I know is that in that moment, I tried to push my way through. I was able to do this once before, the morning I discovered what had happened and that my Shadow Self, inhabited by the evil spirit known as BOB. For a moment—a brief and brilliant moment—I was again in control of my own body outside of this room, and I tried to break free. But the fog descended again and here I remain._

" _Tonight, I was ultimately unsuccessful. And I cannot repeat to you what I saw him do…_

" _I saw Laura not long ago. She was alive. She was dreaming. I urged her not to take the ring—a green ring with a gold band, etched with a marking I saw once before in Owl Cave. I don't know exactly where this ring is now except that it is in his—my—possession in the outside world. I don't know if it provides protection or causes harm. But it is connected to this place, to the evil that resides here, and I feel it should be avoided, at all costs._

" _Audrey, he has this ring. I know you have been to see him—me—but it's not me, Audrey, you must understand this. And you must not accept the ring. You trusted me once. I believe you still do. If you can hear me, listen to me. Trust this voice, not the one you hear from my body out there. He is not me. He must be stopped._

" _Please, Audrey…"_

* * *

 **Sunday April 2** **  
** **4:45 am**

Audrey woke herself up with her sobs to find Donna perched on the edge of her bed, her concern plainly evident in the creases etched into her face.

"Ohhh…" Audrey pressed her hands to her face and wept.

"Donna, I'm so sorry…"

Donna soothed her hands up and down Audrey's arm. "It's all right. Are _you_ okay?"

Audrey sighed. "I don't know. It's these dreams—."

"You had another one, hey?"

Audrey rolled over onto her back. "It's like…I can see him talking but I can't hear what he's saying, and he looks so afraid and desperate for me to hear him but there's nothing I can do and—"

As her sobs wracked her body anew, Donna tried to comfort her with words and her presence alone. "I picked up a book at the library for you," she said. "I thought it might help but you went to bed so early that I didn't get the chance to show you—"

"Really?"

Donna nodded, and in one fluid motion she flicked on her bedside light and reached into her nightstand to produce a medium-sized hardcover book from within the drawer. "It's all about dreams and dream analysis and interpretation," she said, handing the book to Audrey, who took it and began thumbing through the contents in the warm light of the table lamp.

"Donna, this is—"

"What?"

Audrey let a small laugh escape her lips as she swiped at fallen tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. "This is amazing."

"You think so?"

Audrey nodded as she skimmed through the book before landing on the page with the entry about 'Hallways'. "Listen to this: 'Hallways signify mental pathways and spiritual journeys, emotional growth, or physical strength.' Agent Cooper appeared in a hallway a few times. I wonder what that means?"

"Maybe it's a sign that you're on a journey to find him," Donna offered. "You're emotionally ready for the relationship between the two of you to develop further."

"Or for it to end…" Audrey muttered, but when Donna quizzed her for more, Audrey pretended to be engrossed in the Index once more, focusing on the weight of the book in her lap and the gritty remnants of sleep lingering in her eyes. Tracing her finger down the page, she landed on the indexed entry for Colours, and then flipped to the corresponding page. "Black, white, and red. Those are really the only colours I see…I wonder what they mean?"

Together, Donna and Audrey read over the page, skimming until they came to the entry for 'White.' "Purity, innocence, and new beginnings," Donna whispered. "That could be about you!"

"You think?" Audrey asked. "It also could be a symbol of death and mourning. That's what it means in Eastern cultures. And Agent Cooper was fascinated with Eastern religions and such."

Donna sighed, her shoulders sagging. "That's true."

Audrey's fingertip graced the entry for the colour 'Red.' "Passion, vigour, courage, and sexual impulses."

Donna giggled. "That seems kind of self-explanatory."

Audrey joined her in the laugh. "It could also mean blood, violence, and rejection…"

Donna made a face and turned the page from under Audrey's thumb. "What's the entry for black?"

It was the next entry on the following page, and they both read it very carefully.

"The subconscious, mystery, danger, and The Unknown," they both whispered in unison.

Audrey closed the book in her lap. "I don't think that needs much interpretation, though. Does it?"

Donna took the book for herself and flipped it open. "I wouldn't be discouraged, Audrey. This is just the first step in understanding what this is all about," she said, stopping on a page and pointing at a long paragraph under the heading 'Types of Dreams.' "Besides, it says right here that recurring dreams are a sign of something in your waking life or your subconscious that demands to be understood, but that this process could take a while and must be based on individual circumstances and situations."

"Maybe I need a shrink…"

"Let's call Doctor Jacoby!"

Audrey shook her head. "It's okay. It's probably nothing." She shut her eyes and ground her fingertips over her brow. "It's probably just…residual medication from the hospital, or a way to process what's been happening."

Donna closed the book. "What's been happening?"

Audrey sighed and took a long pause while she tried to figure out what needed to be said, and how to say it. "Donna, I lied to you today. A little bit."

"You did?"

"When you dropped me off at the hotel this afternoon. I didn't want you to wait around because I saw that Agent Cooper's car was there, and I was hoping to run into him."

Donna chuckled. "And did you?"

Audrey nodded. "But it wasn't what I expected."

"What _did_ you expect?"

"I don't know—more of the same," Audrey admitted. "I had this whole speech lined up about how I was more grown up and should be taken more seriously because of what I'd been through, political activism and all that," she paused. "I was going to tell him that I was glad he was okay, and that I hoped that we could continue our friendship and that if he ever changed his mind about us that I would be open to that…"

"But?"

Audrey screwed up her face, searching for the words to describe her encounter. "He was so different. It was strange. I expected to have to play it cool but to be the one asking for another chance, but he was…he was the one beside himself with desperation. I had to turn him down, only because it scared me so much to be on the receiving end when I truly expected that I'd be the one doing the chasing."

Donna's eyes widened. "Really?"

"And it was…" Audrey trailed off, holding the thought in pregnant silence for a long moment. She shifted on the bed. "I didn't tell you this, but at the hospital, when you were picking me up…he was also acting strange. I mean, you know how he is _normally_ …" she sighed. "He's so composed and he holds himself with this kind of…dignity and strength," Audrey said. "But yesterday and then again today at the hotel, he was… _unhinged_ , Donna. Out of control. And I don't necessarily mean in a _bad_ way, just in a _different_ way. It was frightening to see a man so self-possessed become so _wild_ —" she caught herself. "But it's probably the head injury, right?"

Donna lowered her voice and angled her head closer to Audrey's. "I heard my father say he went somewhere the night of the pageant," Donna said. "But it was…spooky. It sounds like he disappeared into the woods, like right out of thin air, with Norma's sister and the scary FBI Agent who used to be Agent Cooper's partner."

Audrey trembled as she listened to Donna's words. "Really?"

Donna nodded. "You know how the woods can be, especially at night. If _I_ were ever lost out there…"

Both girls became quiet and still. Audrey's imagination took her to the ends of her deepest fears about the woods. A sudden wave of compassion and understanding for Agent Cooper washed over her. _If he was trapped out there, searching all night for Annie…imagine how frightened he would have been!_ Audrey thought. _Not even Special Agent Dale Cooper could face the forests without being affected by what's out there…_

"Maybe I should have gone easier on him," she mused aloud.

"You didn't know."

 _I do now, though_. Audrey resolved to face it down, the fear she felt, and to give Agent Cooper the benefit of the doubt. After everything she supposed he'd been through, it felt like the very least she could do.

Beside her, she heard Donna sniffle, and turned to face her, seeing for the first time that her eyes were rimmed with red from crying. Audrey suddenly felt such remorse. "I'm so sorry my father did this to you. To your family," she said.

Donna wore her surprise openly on her face for a half second before brushing it away with a scoff. "Oh, come on."

"No, I'm serious," she said. "And here I am, so angry at him for what he's done, for being so selfish, and at the same time I'm being so self-centred myself, talking about me and not even noticing that you're—"

Donna shooed her away. "It's nothing. It's really—"

But Audrey reached over and slid a hand over top of Donna's, then squeezed. And for a long moment the two of them sat, their hands entwined, in perfect silence.

"You haven't seen your father yet?" Donna asked.

Audrey shook her head. "I don't think I will see him."

"You should," Donna said. "It's so important. Family is everything, Audrey. Trust me. I don't even know who my father is anymore and I wish I hadn't taken it all for granted before and—"

"No, Donna, stop," Audrey urged. "The man who cooked spaghetti and meatballs for supper tonight—that man? He's your father. No matter what, Donna, he's your father."

"But—"

"Biology means nothing," Audrey said. "Benjamin Horne may be your biological father, but let me tell you, that doesn't exactly mean much."

Donna was silent for a long time before she sighed. "You should still go see him, Audrey."

 _Maybe_ , Audrey thought. _Maybe when all this is over…when I figure out what needs figuring out…_

Donna was growing sleepier by the minute, and Audrey herself felt her earlier exhaustion creeping back up once more. Without another word, she ushered Donna back to her bed and pulled the covers over her half-sleeping friend before tucking herself into her cot again.

Within minutes, both girls were fast asleep.


	9. Sleep

" _There are experiments that show how people dispossessed of normal day-timing routines—the rising and setting of the sun, for example, or the mechanical aid of alarm clocks—fall into more natural circadian rhythms corresponding to internal needs, rather than external ones._

" _Here, in this place, there is no sun. There are no clocks. There are no stars. But it doesn't matter because sleep is as foreign to me as the language of Ancient Egypt. I don't sleep here. I don't feel tired and yet I feel exhausted—does that make any sense?_

" _But I don't sleep. It is so far away and distant. I don't even remember what it feels like…"_

 **Sunday morning  
** **9:30 am**

At the crack of dawn Audrey woke and showered and had changed into her favourite red blouse and black cropped pants before padding into the Hayward's kitchen and asking if she might get a ride to the hotel that morning under the guise of having forgotten something the day before.

In lieu of a ride, Doctor Hayward gave her the keys to the family's second vehicle, an oft-unused economy vehicle that served as the learner vehicle first for Donna and now for Harriet.

Audrey was so grateful she kissed both Eileen and the good doctor goodbye on the way out the door, a slice of buttered toast in one hand and the car keys in the other.

She practiced her speech on the long and winding highway up the mountain, imagining what she'd say to Cooper when he opened the door. She went over it in her head in a dozen different scenarios, each time imagining how she'd respond and then how he'd respond, and before she knew it she had been idling the Hayward's car in the parking lot for twenty minutes and her hands were clammy.

She reapplied her lipstick in the rearview mirror before exiting the car and striding up to the front doors.

It took her a whole ten minutes to muster the courage to walk the wooded hallways towards Room 315, and as she approached, she nearly lost her nerve all over. But another part of her brain took over and she watched dispassionately as her hand lifted and her knuckles rapped three times on the solid door that stood between her and her Special Agent.

When he answered—a dishevelled mess of sleep and fatigue—she smiled, but she didn't need to say a thing. Her mouth opened, but before the words she'd practiced could be uttered, Cooper's sleepiness and any lingering resolve he still possessed gave way and he leaned forward into the space between them to rest his forehead against hers as if he already knew what she was there to tell him.

Audrey lifted her hand to cup his cheek.

"Dale," she whispered.

His arm encircled her waist and as he stepped back into the early morning darkness of his hotel room, he took her with him.

She toed the door closed behind her.

" _I can see you right now. At least I think it's right now. Time has ceased to have all meaning and doubles back on itself like a winding river through the boreal forest. But for me—me, here, in this red room—the veil has lifted and through my eyes—his eyes, the eyes of the not-me who exists out there, with you, in the real world, who is with you right now, who is looking at you—it's through his eyes that I can see you."_

Cooper dragged her across the room and backed her up against his bed. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," Audrey breathed, pressing her lips to his neck.

He lifted her up, cupping her backside as he leaned over and dropped her to the mattress, covering her body with his.

"Tell me again," he instructed. "Say it."

"Yes. Yes, yes, y—"

He slanted his mouth across hers, cutting off her speech as she moaned against him, arching her body as much as she could, desperate for the closeness of him. Despite her inexperience, she followed an instinct and climbed her fingers to the collar of his nightshirt, pulling it down and over his shoulders. His hand caught hers and he held it, fingers encircling her wrist as he pinned her arm to the bed.

"None of that," he said as he released her.

Audrey felt a pit of fire burning within her abdomen. "What?"

Cooper stood up at the foot of the bed, towering over her. "You first."

Audrey leaned up on her elbows and smiled, timid, as she began unbuttoning her shirt. He watched her, eyes never leaving her as she undressed. When she'd removed her bra, he stepped back from the bed; in the dim morning light, she saw him reach for something on a chair near the opposite wall.

"Move up," he instructed.

She did, sliding up the bed until she was laying on his pillows. He knelt on the bed, crawling towards her.

"Hands," he said.

"What?"

He didn't offer her a second chance but instead grabbed one hand and then the other, lashing them together and to the centre post of his headboard with one of his striped ties.

Audrey felt the most curious mix of panic and excitement. She struggled against her bonds and smiled, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

"What are you going to do to me?"

He didn't say a word but slid his hand down her bare stomach to the button on her pants, which he deftly unfastened before plunging his hand deeper within until she gasped and felt her face heat up. He slid two fingers within her and she felt them curl and flex, curl and flex, with expert ease.

"Oh god…"

Straining against her bonds, Audrey felt herself rising, arching her back against the sensation and bearing down at the same time. She knew it wouldn't be long, and as he pumped his fingers, she felt the familiar build of tension and focused on that. Her keening gasps turned breathless, his name finding purchase on her lips and dying there the second it was spoken. Inserting a third finger, he pressed the heel of his hand against her clitoris and with a deafening crack and a flash of white, Audrey came hard against his palm.

She hadn't come down yet and Cooper was already hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of her pants and pulling them down over her hips, leaving her exposed on the bed. She hadn't even noticed that he had removed his clothes as well, and as he pushed her knees apart and positioned himself between her legs, she caught only a glimpse of his erection before he plunged himself within her, causing her to arch her back and cry out. The last, shocking waves of her orgasm still coursed through her, leaving her raw and sensitive, but he was already thrusting, and she was powerless to stop him.

Cooper fit one hand on the groove of her hip, holding her down against the mattress as he thrust. His other hand silenced her, covering her lips and muffling her cries, which she suddenly felt free to make. She shut her eyes and focused on the feeling, her moans growing louder and louder as his hand pressed against her mouth.

Her struggling was ineffective in any practical capacity except that it served to heighten the feeling of her helplessness, and soon she felt the same coiling pressure within her belly demanding release once again.

"Look at me."

She opened her eyes, and found his to be hard and dark as he stared at her. He kept his hand tight against her hip, his other gripping her jaw and holding her mouth closed as he continued to move within her. He seemed to be losing all the careful control he usually possessed. His thrusts were erratic; he drove himself so deep within her that she cried out in pain now as much as she did from pleasure, her muted screams ripping growls of approval from his throat.

She was so close.

He lowered his head then and clamped his lips around her left breast. She watched as he matched harried pulls on her tender flesh with his thrusts. It was enough to make her start to lose control. But when his teeth latched on, biting hard on the top of her breast, her mind went blank. She screamed into his hand and tried to pull away, but the more she pulled the harder he bit down. Tears sprang to her eyes, along with the waves of searing pain, as she continued to writhe within his grasp. He came quickly after that, with a single guttural groan as he let go of her breast and pulsed within her, and without necessarily willing it to happen, the build-up of sensations and her erotic excitement and terror over her inability to move all combined to a rousing crescendo that finally crested moments after his. As she shook and shuddered beneath his grip, she felt him easing up, finally letting her go.

Seconds passed. He didn't move for a long moment, but Audrey noticed with some relief that he was bearing his own weight and no longer rested on her so completely; she also noticed that he was shaking with sobs.

"Oh—" she mouthed, her voice raspy, her jaw sore. Cooper rolled onto his side and said nothing. Audrey wanted nothing more than to hold him, to comfort him. She struggled to free her hands, and Cooper noticed this, composing himself long enough to lift a hand and undo the knot he'd tied, freeing her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into her embrace.

"What's wrong?"

Cooper said nothing, but his sorrow was worn in the deep grooves of his face, his fatigue written in his eyes and in the drawn corners of his lips. He reached a hand up, and Audrey half expected him to cover her mouth again. Instead, he brushed her hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ears before pressing his lips to her forehead, then her temple, and then in a dozen different places all over her face before settling on her lips with a kiss so heart-achingly gentle that Audrey was stunned into silence. This was not the same man who had bitten her. It couldn't be.

She ignored her confusion and kissed him back, pressing her hands to the sides of his face and holding him there until she felt him sag, dropping heavily against her body.

"You should sleep," she said, noticing for the first time how his arms were shaking from holding himself up. She pulled him down on top of her, stroking his hair as he rested his head on the painful spot he'd attacked only moments before. He seemed to be trying to move, to embrace her, but his strength was gone and his movements eventually stilled.

They stayed that way, wrapped around each other and intimately connected until Cooper rolled away from her, muttering under his breath. Audrey pressed a kiss to his shoulder and watched him until her eyes grew heavy and she was able to ignore the burning pain in her breast long enough to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 _"It's so hard to explain. It's me but it's not me, and this must sound ridiculous to you, but it's the only truth I have. I can see you sleeping right now, Audrey. I can see you breathing. And while I cannot do so right now, I could move his hands only a moment ago. I made his hands touch you the way you ought to be touched, not the way he did before I had any control, when all I could do is watch as he—well, you know. You were there._

 _"I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to warn you, to tell you to run and never come back. God knows I tried. But it was like trying to run in a dream, I suppose. All the effort in the world moves you only an inch or two. I couldn't speak through him. I could make him move but I could not control his speech…_

" _Oh Audrey, this is beastly and I don't know how to fix it. You've got to know it wasn't me you were with. You have to have guessed it. I would never have done those things to you. But when I kissed you…Audrey, when I kissed you, that was me. The real me. You have to know that. You have to have felt it…"_

Audrey roused from her nap with slow deliberation. First she wiggled her toes, then crossed her bare ankles beneath the sheet. She lifted one leg and then the other, feeling the tender, delicious ache between them. Then she swivelled her hips before drawing both arms over her head—the ache there, too, in her shoulders, made her blush—and breathing deep the scents of the room: pine needles and the hotel laundry and Agent Cooper's aftershave.

The bed was empty, but as Audrey spied the impression in his pillow, she noticed a small slip of paper folded and standing up against the sunlight. With a tentative reach, she opened the paper and grinned at the familiar penmanship of her Special Agent:

 _Dinner. Tonight. 7:30._

She smiled and lazily kicked her legs beneath the blanket in excitement. Their intense time together had rumpled the sheets beyond quick repair, but pockets of warmth on his side belied Cooper's recent departure. When she regained her composure, Audrey dipped and swirled her toes where his had been and sighed.

She closed her eyes against the memory, still freshly imprinted on her mind and in her skin. Her wrists chafed where they'd been tied; the tie itself, red and white and black striped, still hung loosely from the bedpost. She reached up to grab it, fondling it in her fingers, and felt the stinging pinch of the slightly purplish bruise on the swell of her left breast, the one that certainly matched the impression of his teeth.

Her discomfort and confusion was palpable as it flooded back to her, every moment of their coupling and the frightening moment when he'd bared his teeth and bitten her.

 _He actually did that,_ she thought. _I wonder what possessed him to do such a thing?_

She cupped her right hand over the swollen bite mark, holding her breast to keep it from moving too quickly as she rolled onto her side and hunkered down again beneath the duvet, pressing her nose into the pillow and trying to find the same slumbering groove she'd just abandoned. Her nap—lasting barely an hour, she guessed, from the slant of the sun coming in the window—had been refreshing in its dreamlessness. It had been bliss, entirely. She just wanted to crawl back there, back to the place where none of the awful contradictions existed and her Special Agent was just her Special Agent, the same gentle lover she'd come to know.

But the loud grumbling from her stomach interrupted the late-morning relaxation, and Audrey's responsibilities—namely, returning the Hayward's car—rushed back to break the quiet stillness of her reverie. She pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed and set about the task of retrieving her clothes from where they'd landed in the furious act of disrobing.

Her blouse was the last piece she'd picked up, draped over the bedside table and the alarm clock. When she lifted it from the table surface, something fell off the nightstand itself. It clattered to the floor, a heavy metallic clank and rattle that disappeared beneath the bed.

Audrey knelt to the floor, ignoring the complaints in her limbs as she did so, and peered beneath the bed. There, facing her from the gleaming and polished wooden floorboards, was a ring.

"Oh!" Audrey said as she reached out to retrieve it. _It's the same ring that nurse had. The one that belonged to Annie…_

Immediately Audrey's heart sank in spite of herself; the hunger in her stomach turned sour, replaced with a bottomless pit of nervous fluttering that made her want to throw up. _He's kept mementos from her. He still loves her. What else could this mean?_

She turned the ring over in her hand. It was heavier than it looked and weighed her hand down as she held it out in front of her. Lightly fingering the tarnished yellow gold, she brushed off dirt from around the turquoise enamel inset with the geometric design in it. It wasn't by any means the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen, but as she held it she was overcome with a perverse desire to slip it onto her own finger. Gripping it between thumb and forefinger, she considered her options. _I could leave it where I found it and pretend I never saw it, or I could take it, or I could—_

The clatter of the housekeeping cart outside the door caused Audrey's heart to skip in her chest. Without thinking twice, she pocketed the ring and slipped her blouse over her head. Giving herself a once over in the mirror, she fixed her hair as best she could; then she glanced around the room to see if there was anything she'd forgotten before quietly stealing away from the room and past the cleaning staff as they entered the room across the hall.

It wasn't until she reached the elevator that she realized the ring was in her pocket. She slid her hand within and curled her fingers around the item.

 _Oh Audrey, what have you done?_

" _I'm not strong enough to do this on my own. I don't know how much time I have either. But I know now he is far too dangerous to allow you to continue, and I believe my talking to you is having no effect. None that I can see, anyway._

" _I'm not a praying man, Audrey, but I pray that you will understand me, that you'll go to Harry or Albert or one of the deputies or even Major Briggs, and that you'll get help. They can help you. Please don't do this on your own._

" _I'm so tired now, Audrey. I watched you sleep but I can't sleep, as much as I want to. I want to sleep, but I don't think I'd even remember how…"_


	10. Transmissions

**11:03am**

Sheriff Truman walked into the lobby to find every available member of the Twin Peaks Sheriff's Department milling about outside his office, pretending to work in the fake hushed tones that let them hear every detail of the loud argument taking place in behind the closed door.

Frustrated, he pushed over to the reception window. Lucy was pretending to take notes; from the look of it, she'd simply doodled a veritable wildflower garden along every margin of the page beneath her hand.

"Don't tell me the Heidlbergs are having another marital spat?" he said through the glass.

Lucy dropped her pen and her voice. "Agent Cooper and Agent Rosenfield."

Truman furrowed his brow. He hadn't even been at his desk that morning, having had to respond to a disturbance in a trailer park in the southern corner of the county, a burgled truck looted of all its fishing gear, and another panicked call from Sally Hendrickson, the drycleaner, who still hadn't been able to locate her sister. He'd done it all with one measly cup of coffee and a stale donut from home under his belt, and all he'd wanted was to return to the station, shut his office door, and take ten minutes for himself before going up to the Palmer house to meet with Sarah as he'd planned.

 _Now this…_

With a deep-seated sigh, Truman pushed his hat back on his head and made his way through the slowly dispersing crowd to his own office door, swinging it open without knocking.

Lucy was only partially right in her assessment of the situation; Albert and Cooper were, most definitely, engaged in a shouting match. But they were each yelling into a phone receiver, on a multi-way call. Truman shut the door behind him and put his hands on his belt.

"You fellas mind telling me what this is about?"

Albert held up his finger. "Hold on," he mouthed, before continuing his line of dialogue into the receiver. "I'M IN TOTAL AGREEMENT WITH YOU! SAM IS MORE THAN CAPABLE OF DOING IT!"

"I DON'T NEED A HANDLER!" Cooper shouted.

After a brief pause, Albert rolled his eyes. "HE SAID HANDLER. HANDLER!" He pulled the phone away from his face. "It's eleven in the morning, who's eating hamburgers?"

Truman made his way around to his desk chair. "Gordon?" he mouthed.

Both agents nodded. Cooper cupped his hand around the mouthpiece. "He wants Albert to stay here for a while, which I think is wholly unnecessary."

"Can you really argue with your boss like that?" Truman asked.

This time it was Albert who covered the mouthpiece. "I'm on Coop's side, and I understand where he's coming from, but until he's back on his feet—"

"I _am_ on my feet," Cooper replied, removing his hand from the mouthpiece to swipe at a line of sweat beading on his upper lip before swooping back in to do damage control. "No, Gordon—SORRY GORDON, THAT WASN'T DIRECTED AT YOU."

Truman watched the scene unfold with what he hoped was a carefully constructed mask of disinterest hiding his curiosity. In reality, he was shocked to see the normally stoic Dale Cooper yelling orders into his phone to the Regional Bureau Chief. He hadn't known the man long but after existing inside a pressure cooker the way they had done over the last six weeks, he felt reasonably certain he could deduce the man's character well enough to know the score, and this was definitely a baffling turn of events. _Par for the course_ , he thought.

Then again, Ben Horne had suffered a personality change after the trauma of his arrest and the death of Leland Palmer; Nadine Hurley had awoken from a coma believing she was a teenaged cheerleader after taking a near lethal mixture of pills. Surely the untold psychological torment of a visit to the Black Lodge was enough to account for the swing in Agent Cooper's behaviour, Truman reasoned, to say nothing of the later head injury. An aversion to authority, the inability to filter thoughts, these all fit in perfect sync with some kind of psychotic episode brought on by anything from stress to exposure to some unknown malice within the shadow world he'd slipped into.

This is what Truman told himself, the stories he allowed himself to believe but which he wasn't entirely sure were true. But in the total absence of anything concrete, even a myth was better than nothing.

Eventually, Albert explained whose office they had usurped and politely disentangled himself from the conversation, followed shortly by Cooper. When both men had hung up their phones and ceased talking, the room took on an eerie stillness.

"So?" Truman asked.

"I don't understand why he won't just recall me to Philadelphia and have done with it," Cooper said, folding his arms across his chest like a petulant child. "For all the good I'm doing here, taking up space—"

"Right, because staying put in the same zip code where your doctor is and recovering from whatever it was that happened up there, that's just a bridge too far," Albert replied. "I thought you liked it up here?"

"I do, but I'd like to stay here on my own terms, and one of those terms is to not have a babysitter. Especially one who could be put to better use elsewhere."

"The autopsies at that bunker can be completed by literally anyone else," Albert said. "Even Sam Stanley."

Cooper's derisive snort—while totally out of character—said more than his words could have ever done. "Sam is a fine person but I wouldn't trust him to cut my sandwich let alone autopsy a whole family of Northern California bear worshippers."

"Now you're just blowing sunshine up my—"

"Fellas," Truman held up his hands. "Look. I've got to run my sheriff's department the way it needs to be run. That means taking calls and cases and handling them to the best of our abilities. I don't have time to supervise a domestic row between the two of you on top of everything else."

Albert smirked; Cooper looked sheepish.

"Now, I certainly don't mind you boys playing in our backyard but you've gotta mind the daisies, that's all I ask," Truman offered. "If Gordon says Albert is staying here, that's where Albert is gonna stay. And Coop, we've been over this but I feel it bears repeating: no one is sidelining you. I wouldn't have called you up and asked you down here to go visit Sarah Palmer with me today if that were true." He paused. "If anything, having you both here at the same time is the FBI's loss and our gain. If Gordon wants the both of you to take up space, as you put it, then I'm happy to pay room and board."

Cooper nodded but he wasn't pleased; Albert stood up and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from his suit.

"That's the most I've heard you speak since I've known you," Albert said.

Truman shrugged and pulled the large sheets of paper Major Briggs had left the night before onto his desk, where they unrolled across the surface. "I'm gonna get a cup of coffee and then I'm gonna call Major Briggs about these papers, and then, Coop, you and I—"

But Cooper was staring at the papers on the desk. "Did you get these from the Major?"

Truman nodded and started rolling the papers away. "He left them here last night. I meant to return them as soon as I got in."

Cooper stopped Truman's hands and turned the pages slowly around so the numbers were facing the right away. "I know what this is."

Truman furrowed his brow. "You do?"

He nodded. "Radio transmissions, from both near earth and deep space satellites," he said as he ran his fingers along each line. "The last time Major Briggs showed me one of these, it had a message for me in it."

Albert seemed at a loss. "From the giant?"

"In a manner of speaking," Cooper replied as his finger slowed. He tapped the page. "Look here."

Truman followed the line of Cooper's arm down to the tip of his finger pressed to a line midway down the first page. From upside down, the numbers that filled each line were just a blur of grey shapes stretching from edge to edge. But as he focused on the section Cooper pointed to, he noticed that it wasn't just a mess of numbers littering the page; in the middle, groups of letters stood out clearly against the background noise. And not just random groups of letters, but intelligible words:

HELP/HELP/HELP

The words repeated, in groups of three, five times over the next five lines, before giving way to a name, a single name, printed three times in order near the bottom of the page:

AUDREY/AUDREY/AUDREY

"What the—?" Truman said.

Albert peered over Cooper's shoulder. "The heiress?"

"Why does Major Briggs have radio transmissions from outer space with Audrey's name on them?" Truman asked. "And what is that supposed to mean? Help Audrey?"

Cooper's eyes never left the page. "I was just with Audrey," he said. "When I left her, she was understandably exhausted, given our morning's _strenuous_ activity, but she didn't indicate she was in any trouble or in need of help."

Albert coughed, choking on his words as he spat them out. "You and Little Miss Trust Fund?" he asked. "Please tell me you just went for a run…"

"It started the day Leland died," Cooper said. "Well, that was the beginning of our sexual congress. We formed a strong connection from the very beginning, something which was only bolstered after her abduction." His announcement was so matter-of-fact that it caught both Truman and, apparently, Albert off-guard. But if Cooper noticed their surprise at his brazen admission, he didn't let on and simply continued, as if discussing his romantic assignations with his coworkers were the most natural thing in the world. "She's a bright and very intelligent human being, with such alluring naiveté. Being with her is just—"

"Are you telling me that you're _shtupping_ the daughter of the town patriarch?" Albert asked.

"She's quite remarkable," Cooper replied by way of defence.

Truman could see Albert gearing up for Round Two; desperate to change the topic, he redirected back to the page, jabbing the paper with his index finger. "What does this mean?"

Cooper shrugged his shoulders and began rolling up the paper before stopping to once again swipe a line of sweat from off his brow. "I'm sure I have no idea, but even if I did, I wouldn't think I'd be at liberty to say. This is classified information from Project Blue Book, information I received from Major Briggs and which I wouldn't feel comfortable passing on."

"But you don't think it means anything?" Truman asked.

Cooper shook his head. "I don't know much about satellite transmissions, but isn't it possible for phone signals to be intercepted here?"

Truman felt ill-at-ease with the casual way Cooper brushed off his concerns without so much as a cursory investigation. _It wasn't that long ago you condemned him for thinking too much,_ Truman thought. _Now it's like he's not thinking at all._

He wasn't about to take any chances. "I think I'm going to put Audrey under protective watch, just in case," he said, picking up the phone.

Cooper's hand shot out and pressed the hookswitch, silencing the dial tone. "I wouldn't wake her up just yet," he said. "We had _quite_ the morning and—"

"Okay!" Albert raised his hands in surrender. "Look, gents, it's been a slice but if I hear another word about the goings-on in your sex life, I might just shove that letter opener into my ear canal, so if you don't mind keeping the conversation a little less carnal, I'd really appreciate it."

Truman put the handset back in the base. "Have it your way," he said to both of them and neither one in particular before turning to Cooper. "The next time you see Audrey, have her give me a call."

"Will do."

Truman sighed, feeling the mounting pressure of a lack of caffeine building behind his eyes. He checked his watch. "I told Sarah we'd visit her before noon. Let me grab a cup of coffee and we can head out."

"Fine with me, Sheriff," Cooper said as he took up a seat again in the chair opposite the desk and pulled out his whittled duck caller from his inside pocket, eyeing it with all the joy of a schoolboy. Truman finished rolling the sheets of paper and tucked them under his arm as he walked out of the room.

Albert followed him into the kitchen, shutting the accordion door half-way behind him.

"Look, Harry, I know you want to believe that all is well and good in whatever land it is Dale lives in, but—"

"But?" Truman interrupted as he poured himself a cup of coffee from a fresh pot.

Albert checked behind him to make sure no one was listening. "In all my years with him I've never heard him disparage another FBI Agent the way he shot down Sam back there. And I say that as no big fan of Agent Stanley," he said. "And what's this about Audrey Horne?"

Truman sighed. "I feel I ought to bear at least some of the blame for that one. They were acting like school kids from the get-go and I didn't exactly discourage it." He brought his mug to his lips, pausing before sipping. "But he was _never_ this open about it before."

"See what I'm saying?"

"But Albert, I mean, he took a pretty decent blow to the head when he fell in the bathroom, and with everything else that went on up there at Glastonbury Grove—"

"Look, far be it from me to stand in the way of true love. But Cooper is a Boy Scout with a badge. He broke a lot of rules for Caroline and it cost him dearly, and I have a hard time believing he'd be cavalier about any of this."

Truman nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with you, but he's not breaking any laws here. I'm not sure what you'd have me do about it."

Albert sighed. He reached for the papers still tucked under Truman's arm. "Let me bring these by Major Briggs, get his expert opinion. You take Coop to Mrs. Palmer's place. See what you can suss out."

Truman nodded. "Sounds fair."

"Good," Albert said, nodding his head before shaking it with a quick laugh. "You know, the real kicker is that even though I don't know her very well, I think Audrey Horne is exactly the type of gal I'd picture Coop settling down with someday."

Truman chuckled. "I've known her her whole life, and I think you're right."

Albert's smile faded slowly. "If only life could be as simple as that."

With that, Albert bundled the papers under his arm and walked into the lobby and straight out to the parking lot, leaving Truman with a steaming mug of coffee and a lot on his mind.


	11. Questions

**11:56am**

Truman parallel parked the truck in front of the Palmer house and turned off the engine. He furrowed his brow and ran two fingers along the brim of his hat before tipping it back and scratching his forehead.

"So how're you feeling today, for real?" he asked. "You look a little clammy."

"I feel fine," Cooper nodded, bringing his hand up to touch his upper lip, wiping away a thin line of perspiration. "Better than yesterday, not as good as tomorrow."

"Good," Truman nodded, "That's real good."

"I'm glad you asked me to visit Sarah with you," Cooper said. "And I'm real sorry for the way Albert and I were acting back at the station. You know, we've got a complicated history, the two of us and—"

"Well, I'm gonna level with you, Coop. I'm not your superior. I don't get to tell you what to do. But if you were my deputy, I don't know if you'd be sitting in this truck with me right now."

The brave declaration didn't have the effect of angering Cooper at all, which is what Truman expected. Instead Truman watched as Cooper's eyes softened and a sad smile crossed his face. "Well Harry…you _did_ ask me to come along."

"I did," Truman replied with a slow nod. "But I think you should know that your behaviour is starting to worry people. Myself included. I know you suffered a blow to the head, and whatever else happened to you must have had an effect, but…well, like I said, I'm not your superior, but I am your friend, and I'd like to think that that holds some sway in your mind."

Cooper nodded. "It does."

"Then won't you reconsider a leave of absence? Very short, very temporary. Give yourself some time to really recuperate before you jump back into things."

Cooper sat still for a long moment. "You're a good friend. I hope you know that. That no matter what has happened or what will happen…"

Truman turned to look at Cooper. "What _will_ happen?"

Again, Cooper's demeanour shifted almost imperceptibly—a hard gleam in his eye, a tightening at the corner of his mouth, the quick click of his cervical vertebrae as he cocked his head to the side by a matter of degrees. He laughed. "I'm not a fortune teller, Harry," he said as he pushed open his door and leapt out of the truck.

Truman watched as Cooper closed the door and walked around to the front of the truck. When he pulled his hands off the steering wheel and reached for his own door handle, he realized he was shaking. He shut his eyes and took a deep, grounding breath.

 _Get a grip, Harry_ , he told himself as he leaned into the door and swung his left leg out onto the runningboard.

"You all right, Sheriff Truman?"

Truman nodded. "Just making sure I have my keys," he lied. He shut the door and joined Cooper at the head of the sidewalk leading up to the Palmer's front door, willing himself to focus.

The majestic house in front of them now seemed a forlorn monument to what had been the Palmer family's wealth and status and success. Now, with so many rooms standing empty and so much sadness hanging in the air, there was nothing left to celebrate.

Cooper motioned to the small 'For Sale' sign staked out at the end of the driveway, sticking out from the hedgerows. For a long moment Truman stared at it before humming a slow sigh.

"Can you blame her?"

"No, Harry, I don't believe I can."

Truth be told, he was shocked by the sight. The Palmers had, for as long as Truman could remember, lived on this piece of land near the intersection of Northwestern and Frost. It didn't seem right that there would come a day—soon, probably—when another family's name would grace the mailbox and the deed, when someone else would lay claim to the memories that grew out of the ground here like the Douglas fir and lodgepole pines that circled the property. But, with so much sadness pervading the rooms now, he really didn't know how Sarah Palmer could stay there anymore. He knew no one would fault her for moving as far away as possible from the place that took her family from her, but he also knew that she'd never give up on Twin Peaks entirely; not while her husband and only child lay in its earth. Truman felt compelled to bow his head in reverence for a brief moment.

The two men started up the walkway, each step they took against the damp pavement sounding hollow and echoing back at them from the clapboard siding ahead. When they'd reached the porch, it was Cooper who stretched out his arm and rang the doorbell. They waited there in silence until the door creaked open, the only sound to shatter the stillness of the street.

Truman cleared his throat as Sarah stood before them, separated by the screen door. "Good morning, Sarah…"

Sarah glanced between Truman and Cooper and back again. "Sheriff Truman? What are you doing here?"

The sheriff was puzzled. "We made plans to meet this morning to talk about a conversation you had with Major Briggs a week ago at the Double R. We spoke about it last night?"

Sarah didn't say a word but instead trained her eyes on Cooper.

Truman cleared his throat. "May we come in?"

She shook her head. "No," she replied. "No. He's not coming in here."

Truman looked to Cooper, while Cooper began pleading his case. "Mrs. Palmer?"

"It's Agent Cooper, Sarah. Remember?"

She shook her head. "No. No, he can't come in."

Truman reached for the screen door handle; as he did Sarah took a stumbling step backwards into a hall table, knocking it against the wall with her hip. She cried out, fear fraying the edges of her voice as her dead husband's name was pulled from her lips.

She instantly realized what she'd said and collapsed in on herself, leaning against the wall, her hand covering her face.

Truman opened the door, looking back at Cooper. "I think you'd better wait here."

Cooper's lips stiffened and he stood up straight, pausing for a moment before retreating down the porch steps. Sarah watched him, hawk-like, for a long second before unlocking the screen door and allowing Truman passage to the front entryway.

"Sarah!"

"He's been there," she said, pressing her hand to the side of her head. "He's been to that place. That awful place. I won't allow it. I won't allow him in here. I won't."

"I don't know what—"

"You should be more careful, Sheriff."

She shuddered, and Truman observed how much she'd aged in the weeks since her world had come crashing down upon her. She drew her housecoat tightly around her middle and threaded her fingers through the tight curls at her base of her neck; then she sighed. "There's darkness here. Such darkness as I don't think you've ever seen before."

Truman glanced out the door at Cooper, who was stooped over smelling flowers that had begun to poke their heads out of the still chilled April earth. "He's an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, Sarah. I mean, he's a bit odd but he's not a dangerous person."

A hitched half-sob caught in Sarah's throat as she gripped her own hair and shut her eyes tightly for a long moment, pursing her lips to prevent herself from crying. "Neither was my Leland," she said.

Sheriff Truman stood up straight. Once again, he cleared his throat, more as a nervous tic than for actual practical benefit. "Sarah, I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I just have a few questions."

She nodded, composing herself. "I-I don't remember a conversation at the Double R, if that's what you want to know."

Truman swallowed and looked at his notes. "It was a week ago. You were with Doctor Jacoby, and he had brought you in because you had something to tell Major Briggs."

Sarah's face blanked. "I did?"

"You don't remember this at all?" he asked. "Telling the Major that you were in the Black Lodge with Agent Cooper?"

She shook her head. "If I said that, I wasn't talking about myself. It could have been someone speaking through me, I suppose." She gulped down a half sob before attempting a mirthless laugh. "It's a curse, Sheriff. It's my curse."

Through the screen door they both heard the sound of the radio in the truck. Sarah looked out again at Cooper, her eyes trained on him as he began making his way back towards the truck to answer the call. Suddenly, her eyes glassed over; she began to tremble, everything from her hands to her lower lip to the ends of her hair, electric vibrations that shocked Truman but kept him rooted to the floor in confusion.

"Sarah?"

She turned to look at him, her eyes filled with tears. "You're going to have to leave now," was all she said before breaking down, clutching the collar of her housecoat as she collapsed on the bottom stair.

Truman heard Cooper's voice from outside.

"That was Hawk," he said. "We need to get back to the station."

"What is it?"

Cooper shook his head slightly before motioning for Truman to exit the house with a twist of his head.

Truman turned back, offering a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "If there's anything—"

She nodded, pain and sorrow on her face, as he took his leave from her. The screen door snapped back and shut quickly behind him, the _bang_ of it breaking the still-deafening ambient silence of Northwestern Street, the only sound as far as sight in either direction.

"What is it?" Truman asked again once a discreet distance had been placed between them and the Palmer house.

"A body," Cooper replied. "In the woods."

Truman's heart sank, but he didn't have time to nurse the grief that coursed through his body. He and Cooper lock-stepped back to the truck and scarcely had their seatbelts on before they'd roared away from the curb, sirens blaring as they headed north up the eastern slope of White Tail Mountain.

" _Once again, Audrey, I'm speaking to you as if you can hear me but I don't know if you can or not._

" _He's angry. He's angry and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm powerless to stop him. He resents the FBI presence—they're the ones best equipped to handle these kind of cases—and he resents Harry's attempts at stopping him from getting close to the investigation. He's angry, and he's desperate, and I'm afraid what he's done already is but a precursor to the kind of thing none of us can come back from._

" _You are in grave danger. You all are. Danger the likes of which you have never known. Danger I had hoped to keep from your door but which I fear I have visited upon you anyway…"_

 **12:30pm**

Audrey swiveled in her chair at the lunch counter of the Double R, her hands clasped around the mug of hot coffee in front of her. She blew across the top, sending tiny ripples skimming over the surface of the dark liquid and releasing the delicate fragrance up into the air. She sighed and then inhaled, deeply, feeling the jolt of caffeine without ingesting a single liquid drop. She wondered if this is what addiction felt like—if the sensation of caffeine particles filling her nasal cavities and stimulating her olfactory nerve was the same sensation that Laura felt with the cocaine once upon a time.

Of course she couldn't say for sure; she'd only been drinking coffee for a little over a month—since she first observed Agent Cooper over breakfast at the Great Northern—and was that even long enough to develop an addiction to it?

She closed her eyes and sighed, and as she did she felt instantly transported. Her body remained at the Double R counter, but in her mind she was still drowning in Dale Cooper's bedsheets at the Great Northern. His fingers pressed into her skin, his breath hot on her throat, pushing and pulling and holding her tight—it was as if she felt everything happening to her all over again.

More than that, she felt she could see it plain as day, as if she were looking down at herself from Cooper's own eyes. No longer a remembrance of the things she had experienced, Audrey felt like she were watching a movie, watching herself, watching the fear and excitement criss-cross her face. Behind and around that was…a feeling. A curious mix of tenderness towards her sleeping self and a deep desire to elicit fear and pain from her as well. Cooper's feelings.

Her breath caught in her throat; she remembered him baring his teeth, and suddenly she saw him doing it—understood he was doing it as she watched her own reaction to the event unfurl before her. Suddenly, she wanted to forget it all.

Her breast ached; in her reverie, Audrey lifted a hand and clasped it to her chest, and in the process she knocked her coffee cup over, spilling hot coffee all over the counter.

Shelly leapt into action, saving the cup from rolling off the edge and shattering over the service area floor. As she whipped out two towels to mop up the mess, she looked up at Audrey through her lashes. "You okay?"

Audrey's jitters threatened to expose her; she pressed her palms into the barstool. "A little dizzy, I think," she said.

"Let me get you some water," Shelly offered as she cleaned up the rest of the spill. Just like that, it was as if nothing had happened. Audrey was acutely aware of the other patrons, whose conversations had halted as they took turns watching and deducing her. Microscopically analyzed, she felt naked and vulnerable, and so she focused her attention on the faint patterns in the Formica as she white-knuckled the barstool.

 _It wasn't all like that, was it?_ she wondered. He had kissed her, a stark and gentle contrast to the fantastic brutality of their coupling. _That did happen, right?_ She wanted to believe there was more to it, to their spectacular coming-together. Tenderness, real affection: these were things Agent Cooper had shown her in abundance once upon a time. She wanted to believe it was still there, that those feelings yet existed between them. She _needed_ to believe it. For as satisfyingly carnal as it was to want and be wanted in equal measure, and to then be _taken_ …Audrey needed to believe he loved her too, that it went beyond the physical, that alongside his ardent passion there was gentle kindness on offer for her too.

His final, mollifying act—those affectionate kisses as he wept against her skin—was the only balm to soothe away even some of the confusion and uncertainty she felt about what had transpired in room 315 of her father's hotel, as dawn brightened over the mountain ridges outside.

Her throat closed up and she swallowed hard against the lump that threatened to steal the air from her lungs. With an absent mind, she lifted her hand from the barstool and let it sink into her pocket, feeling the heft of the ring—Annie's ring—against her fingertips.

"I would offer you a refill but—" Shelly said, breaking Audrey's concentration as she set down a tall glass of ice water between them. "Do you want one?"

Audrey snapped to attention. "Sorry Shelly," she said, lifting the water glass to her lips. Frigid condensation rolled off the glass and down Audrey's wrist, thin rivulets that fell beneath the cuff of her sleeve and over the friction burns from Cooper's necktie, just above the heat of her pulse point. She shivered. "I'm just…"

"Daydreaming," Shelly smiled down at her as she filled a new coffee cup for her anyway. "No harm in that."

Audrey nodded and took another sip of water, followed by her first sip of coffee. It was hot and bitter, burning her tongue, but the pungent taste of it snapped her senses back into focus—the room, the smells, the feel of the seat beneath her and the sound of the honky tonk guitar coming from the jukebox behind her. She took a deep, calming breath, and as Shelly turned around and went to check on another customer, Audrey called her name.

"Shelly?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

Shelly came back over, bending down to rest an elbow on the countertop and her chin in her hand. "What's on your mind?"

Audrey put the coffee cup down. "Say there's this…boy. Someone you respect and admire. Someone you like, a lot. And he likes you back…at least, you _think_ he does…or he certainly _seems_ to like you…" she shook her head and stopped her own rambling and pressed her hands into the countertop. "Anyway. There's a spark, a connection, but for some good reasons and a few not-so-good ones you and he can't have a real relationship and you have to break it off, and then in the meantime he meets another woman, and has a relationship with her…"

Shelly nodded, following the twisting line of Audrey's story as best she could.

Audrey sat up on the stool. "Say he gives that woman a ring, but then one day you see that she's given it back, or that he's taken it back. What do you suppose that means?"

Shelly shrugged her shoulders after a moment's pause. "I guess I'd assume the relationship is over," she offered. "But it's hard to say. And I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to boys, so…"

Something twisted and butterflied below Audrey's ribcage. _Maybe that's another reason why he's acting weird! Maybe all of this has been a big mixup and he's just nervous or maybe he's angry…maybe he knows he's made a mistake and maybe he stole the ring back or—_

"Thanks Shelly," Audrey said. "Sorry about the coffee."

Shelly smiled and nodded. "Don't sweat it."

The bell above the door chimed and out of the corner of her eye, Audrey saw Donna step in. The two girls smiled at each other, and Donna joined her at the counter. Without saying a word, Shelly lifted the coffee pot in Donna's direction, and Donna nodded; while Shelly picked out the cup and saucer from the clean dishes at the far end of the counter, Donna turned to Audrey.

"You left so early this morning."

"I went to the hotel."

"To see him?"

Shelly returned with a mug and the coffee pot, and filled a cup for Donna. No one spoke until Shelly stepped back from the counter and went about tending to the other customers seated on either side.

Audrey lowered her voice out of habit. "After we talked last night, it was like I _had_ to go. Like I couldn't _not_ go." She shrugged her shoulders a little, adding: "Your dad let me borrow the car."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Are you mad?"

Donna shook her head. "No, of course not."

Audrey sighed and twisted her coffee mug against the saucer beneath it, a half turn clockwise, a three-quarter turn counterclockwise. The vibrations of the ceramic mug against the squeaky clean saucer produced a succession of quick ripples through the liquid, which she watched, absolutely mesmerized, until they dissipated.

"I'm seeing him again tonight. For dinner."

"Just dinner?" Donna asked with a smirk that left no doubt about her ulterior meaning. Audrey blushed, withholding her answer not just because it seemed indelicate but also because she honestly had no idea what to say. Beneath her sweater, she felt her pulse quicken; her breast throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Would you help me decide what to wear?"

Donna smiled and began tending to her coffee with packets of sugar and generous splashes of cream that turned the dark coffee nearly white. "Yeah, sure."

Audrey stared into her own coffee cup again, pursing her lips and blowing over the surface once more. A quiet throb began to pulse beneath her ribcage and she shivered, closing her eyes and biting her lip. She brought one hand up and to the tender bruise beneath her bra, deposited there that morning.

The sharp ache her touch produced both enthralled and terrified her.

With her other hand, she reached deep within her pocket and fingered the ring once more. With slow, deliberate strokes, Audrey lifted it and twirled it between her fingers, careful not to put it on—it _was_ another woman's, after all, and she just wasn't sure that even if it _wasn't_ , it was not going to be quite as simple as that anyway.

 _Maybe it really is just a big mistake_ , she reasoned. _You'll never know unless you ask him._


	12. Patience

**Sunday April 2  
** **12:39pm**

Sheriff Truman trudged over the steep and mossy incline that led away from the dirt road on which he and Cooper had parked, heading deep into the trees above him. High above, Andy paced in circles at the hill's crest, his hands on his hips.

"Fill me in, Andy," Truman told his Deputy once he stepped up onto level ground.

Andy's eyes were red-rimmed. He bowed his head for a moment. "It's another body, Harry. Just up the way there."

Truman clapped a hand on Andy's shoulder as Cooper reached them, somewhat out of breath and starting to sweat, but with the same look of boyish wonder on his face as he'd had the day he arrived. "I'll never get over these trees, Harry," he said.

"Maybe you ought to stay back," Truman said. "It's still a bit of a hike and—"

"Nonsense," Cooper said, motioning into the forest. "That way?"

Truman let Andy lead them up a more gradual but meandering incline to where Hawk and another officer already stood. Their attentions were drawn to a dense thicket of bushy undergrowth at the base of a stand of very old and very large lodgepole pines, where Albert crouched, lifting away branches and peering into the bush.

"What've we got?" Truman said as he reached Hawk's side.

Hawk pointed into the bushes, and Truman spotted a slim white ankle poking out from underneath a large fern. "Female. Late twenties, early thirties. Hikers found the body an hour ago."

Truman reached into his pocket and produced a pair of gloves, which he slipped onto his hands as he made his way over to the bushes. "ID?"

"Nothing on the body," Hawk replied. "But it sure looks like Judy Hendrickson."

Truman turned to look at Hawk. "You sure?"

Hawk nodded. "I'd wager."

Truman sighed; he had only that morning been sitting with Judy's sister over the elder Hendrickson's kitchen table, asking her to be patient, to resist the urge to cry foul play until the standard twenty-four hours had passed. _Turns out I was several hours too late…_ he thought as he walked ahead. "Andy, did you photograph the crime scene?"

"Yes, I did," Andy replied, swiping at his eyes. "Two rolls. They're in the bag in the squad car."

Truman reached Albert's side, and as he peered into the undergrowth, he saw splatters of blood on the leaves and a large pool of deep red, congealed blood on the forest floor, spreading out from beneath her head.

"Whaddya reckon, Albert?"

Albert sighed and used the non-writing end of a ballpoint pen to scratch at a spot above his ear. "Well, she's definitely dead. Apart from that, there's not much here." He pointed to the body, still half-hidden by the bushes. "Doesn't look like much of a struggle—no damaged branches or anything. Massive amounts of blood loss, as you can see. She was definitely killed here."

"Anything that might indicate who the perpetrator was?" Cooper's voice sounded from behind them.

Albert shook his head. "There are indications of footprints but there are dozens of them and almost all of them made in decayed leaves and moss so there are no reliable shoe impressions we can cast." He looked up and around him, down both directions of the pathway. "It's a popular hiking spot. Dozens of people could have been here in the last twenty four hours."

Truman observed Cooper staring at the dead woman's legs, sticking out perfectly straight from underneath the bush. "How was she killed?"

Albert lifted a rock from beside the fern. Even without the benefit of years of investigative experience into murders and suspicious deaths, Truman could tell it was the murder weapon; bits of tissue and a clump of hair clung to the surface. "Good luck lifting prints from this."

Cooper shook his head and carefully stepped forward, around the pool of blood, before reaching his own gloved hand to push aside the branches obscuring the woman's upper body from view. Truman stood up to help, and when he peered down at her lifeless body, he recognized her face from the photos her sister had given him only hours before.

"She was on the ward where Annie was, wasn't she?" Hawk asked from the clearing.

Truman nodded, his voice a hair above a whisper. "I spoke to her sister this morning. Judy was new here. Moved in from Seattle not six months ago after a bad breakup," he said.

"That's hard luck," Albert said.

Cooper had come to join them, and he knelt down, careful not to disturb any of the evidence clinging to the leaves and branches. His face wore the deep sadness of a man who could no longer comprehend the evil that men were capable of, and when he opened his mouth to speak, the voice that croaked out was laced with the same defeat. "Who do you suppose could do this?"

Truman shook his head. "A month ago, I never would have believed anyone was capable of it. Now, it could be anyone."

"I'd probably start with that ex-boyfriend," Albert offered.

"Do you think this could be BOB?" Cooper continued.

At the mention of the entity's name, Truman stopped cold. "How is that even remotely possible?"

Cooper shrugged. "I don't know. I just…in light of everything that's happened...here's another murder, a young woman, in these woods."

Truman turned the thought over and over again in his mind. "It doesn't fit the previous murders. Laura and Maddy were both found in or near bodies of water."

"Teresa Banks, too," Albert added.

"Besides," Truman said. "Didn't BOB get sent back to the Lodge when you were in there? You saw him in there, right Coop?"

Cooper furrowed his brow. "Yes, I did," he replied. "Apologies, gentlemen. You're probably right. It's just a regular old earth-bound murder. No supernatural possessions. Just a modern psychopath."

Truman watched as a kind of calm passed over Cooper's face, as if he were relieved by the fact that the woman had been murdered not by Lodge spirits but by someone of flesh and blood. Truman, for his part, was not as comforted by it. _Either way, another life lost in this corner of the state…on my watch…_

After a moment, Truman called over to the officer standing back with Hawk, asking him to bring the stretcher; they'd need to bring the body down to the hospital where Albert had agreed to perform the post-mortem. Andy and Hawk were going to stay up and comb the site for more evidence while Truman, for his part, needed to speak to the hikers and notify the family.

Before they could go their separate ways, however, Cooper turned back to Albert, still standing over the body.

"Is she wearing any rings?"

"Rings?" Albert asked.

"Any rings at all? Or signs that she used to wear a ring? Tan lines? Indentations on the fingers?"

Albert gave the body a once-over. "Nothing. No rings."

"What are you talking about rings for?" Truman asked, catching up with Cooper as he neared the corpse. "Coop, look at me. What ring?"

Cooper shook his head; his hair, perfectly coiffed, sprang from its prison, and a lock tumbled over his forehead, obscuring another line of perspiration forming just above his eyebrows. "Harry, it's something from my dream. A ring. The little man in my dream showed me a ring. I think it's connected to the Lodges somehow. A beacon in the outside world. Something that marks his victims—"

Once upon a time, Truman would have bent over backwards to accommodate the vision quest that Cooper seemed hell bent on completing. But after everything that had happened, he was less than patient and nearing the very end of his tether. "Coop, listen to me. There's no ring. There has never been a ring. This isn't supernatural. This wasn't BOB," he said. "And even if there was a chance it _could_ be, Laura wasn't wearing a ring. Ronette wasn't wearing a ring. Maddie wasn't wearing a ring. Annie wasn't wearing a ring. No one—no victim at any point—has ever been in possession of a ring—"

"Well—" Albert started.

The sheriff turned to face him. "What?"

"Teresa Banks _did_ wear a ring," Albert said. "It was in her autopsy report."

"So what are you saying?" Truman asked. "That it's _possible_ this was BOB? That's he's—what?—that he's inhabiting someone else now?"

Albert shook his head. "I don't think we're at a point where we can say one way or another, Harry. But maybe we can't discount it as a possibility just yet."

Cooper's eyes flashed; Truman couldn't be sure that Cooper wasn't smiling. "Are you sure?" he asked before turning back to Albert. "Can you check under the body? Around her?"

But Truman had had enough. Gripping the FBI Agent by the shoulders, he spun the man around to face him. "Coop, I think you're done here."

Cooper chuckled, seeming to snap out of whatever fevered reverie he'd been in and appearing, for a moment, to have regained himself. He brushed his hair back, dried his forehead. "Harry, come on. It's me."

Truman scuffed his shoe against the damp earth. "And you're not yourself right now."

Cooper pulled himself away from Truman's grasp and tugged on his lapel to straighten the collar. "I'm fine," he said, his tone even as he punctuated each short syllable and underscored them with all the power and authority of a seasoned veteran officer of the law.

Truman took a half step back. "No, Cooper. You're not." Somewhere off in the distance, an eagle cried out. The sound echoed off the mountains, and as it dissipated in the wind, Truman took a deep breath, softening his tone, willing himself to relax before he continued, addressing the man in front of him as a friend and a colleague with all the concerned conviction he could muster. "You need time. To heal and recuperate. And so that's what I'm ordering you to do."

"Ordering?" Cooper asked. "On whose authority?"

"On the authority of the people of this county and under the Constitution of the State of Washington, by which I have been elected and for whom I have pledged to carry out the law to the best of my ability," he said.

Cooper's measured gaze never faltered. "You'll have to throw me in jail."

"I will if I have to."

For a long and tense moment, the standoff boiled just below the tipping point. But finally Albert stepped forward from the bushes and removed his gloves from his hands. "Come on, Coop. Let's go for lunch. My treat."

Cooper shook his head. "I don't know why you think this is necessary, Harry. It's not."

Truman put a comforting hand on Cooper's shoulder. "Go watch some TV or go to sleep. I'll send Doc Hayward up to check on you this evening."

Dejected, Cooper began the slow and careful descent down the path towards the line of cars on the road below, with Albert following at a close clip behind.

"Have the body sent to Calhoun," Albert said to the trees. "I'll meet them there and conduct a preliminary examination when I get back."

"Sure thing, Albert," Truman said, feeling a hoarseness in his voice that reminded him he hadn't had a real day off in a very long time. He shook the fatigue from his head as he watched until he couldn't see them any longer, listening until the sound of the engine died away and left nothing but the crisp stillness of the mountain air in its wake.

Hawk came to join him. "You okay, Harry?"

Truman shook his head. "All this goddamned talk about BOB and the Lodges has me spooked, I'm not gonna lie," he said, toeing a pile of rotting leaves and moss at his feet. "We've been down this road already. I thought we handled this."

"Maybe we did. Or maybe that was just one battle."

Truman felt an irrational anger building up inside of him. "Well, I'm sick and tired of the games and the mystery. I want answers. I want Cooper back. I want my _town_ back."

Hawk, for all his gruff wisdom, was silent for a long moment before speaking. "A wise man once said: 'Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.'"

Truman sighed as he mulled the fortune cookie tidbit over in his head. "And who said that?"

Hawk offered him a sly smile. "Jean-Jacques Rousseau."

Truman chuckled and shook his head. "Thanks," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and flipping over a large rock at his feet to reveal a mass of crawling bugs and worms in the damp earth. The drizzle in the air had turned to rain finally; the sound of each drop hitting the tree branches in the canopy above their heads blended together into a cacophonous mess that made Truman wince. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the woods.

"I have a family to notify," he said, guilt overtaking him for being glad for the distraction of the terrible phone call he was about to make. He turned back to Hawk. "You okay if I head back to town?"

Hawk nodded. "Go on ahead, Sheriff Truman. We'll meet you at the station."

Truman straightened his posture before treading the path down to his truck once again, following in Cooper's steps the entire way.


	13. Danger

**7:30pm**

Audrey once again found herself fussing over her reflection in the Haida mirror, marooned in the empty elevator lobby. She hadn't seen a single soul on her way in, but the raucous laughter coming from the Timber Room told the story about where everyone was—the first of two annual fly fishing conventions held in the hotel was keeping everyone busy, as it should, considering it was one of the biggest events on the Great Northern's social calendar.

She felt the familiar tug of responsibility, wondering how the hotel was running with her father still out of commission and the reins being held _in absentia_ by her uncle. _Clearly it's going fine,_ she thought as the bitter sting of rejection lodged itself behind her sternum. No one needed her. No one missed her. No one even knew she was gone.

Audrey shook her head and swallowed past the lump in her throat, shooting a stern reprimanding look at herself in the mirror.

 _Stop it, Audrey Horne._

In truth, she was glad for the solitude that the last week had afforded her. Space to heal, certainly, but also space to think. She didn't really want to run the hotel, or the department store, or any of the other business ventures her father had his sticky fingers in. She wanted to graduate and then be on the first bus out of town. She wanted to travel. She wanted to take classes on criminology and psychology and have deep conversations with interesting people. She wanted her own car and a small plot of land where she could grow tomatoes and honeysuckles side-by-side.

If she could do that with him by her side…

She shook her head once again and stomped her foot against the rug beneath her feet. She smoothed her hands over the front of the fitted grey cashmere sweater and picked at a few fabric pills along the ribbed hem, just above the waistband of her pencil skirt. Donna's own pearl necklace graced Audrey's collarbone, and the matching earrings were pinned in her ears, peeking out from beneath the mass of ebony waves that she had spent a full hour coaxing around her face until they sat exactly where she wanted them to.

Audrey took another look at herself in the mirror, cocking her head to the side. "Should have worn the black dress," she whispered, tugging on the hem of the sweater. She looked like a school girl. Her heart sank and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Get it together," she whispered.

The fading bruises and scrapes on her face from the explosion were barely visible beneath the veneer of foundation and cover-up that she and Donna had spackled on before Audrey had left the house. Still, her fingers traced the outline of the largest stain on her cheekbone, a mottled mix of chartreuse and purple that the makeup covered and that no one else would notice but that Audrey could see without needing to peer too hard at all.

Hit with a wave of discomfort, intrusive second thoughts about the whole evening washed over her. Her breath hitched in her chest as she inhaled. Rational thoughts escaped her; she felt tears forming in her eyes. _What if I'm wearing too much makeup? What if this morning was just sex and nothing more? What was that, between us? Maybe he's going to end it with me, now that he got what he wanted. Maybe he knows about the ring I took, and he'll ask for it back. What if he loves her more than me?_

She shook her head and stomped her feet again, harder this time, flexing her toes inside her shoes, as she counted to ten, first forward and then backwards.

"Good evening."

She spun around, and for the second time in as many days saw Agent Cooper standing behind her. Startled, she managed a nervous laugh.

"You frightened me."

"Are you okay?"

She put one hand on her hip and the other splayed across her chest as she smiled and shrugged the question off. "I just…I need to catch my breath…"

He came a step closer, offering her his hand. She hesitated. "Come on, Audrey. _I_ didn't scare you this bad, did I?"

Audrey exhaled and sobbed at the same time, shutting her eyes against the rising tide of nausea and wondering why her left hand suddenly felt dead, like she'd been sitting on it and it had fallen asleep. She was only distantly aware of being led away from the mirror, and when she opened her eyes finally, she found them both sitting on a settee in a quiet alcove off the lobby.

"Breathe, Audrey," he urged, and she listened to his voice and struggled to do as she was told, breathing in and out with great effort and concentration. Her hands still prickled, and her feet felt leaden.

"I don't know why this is happening," she said through the fog.

"It's okay," Cooper replied, soothing his hands up and down her arms. "Just breathe."

She reached into the pocket of her skirt and produced the ring. It wasn't a conscious decision on her part—far from it. Her hand—the one that had felt numb only moments before—seemed to move on its own, and as she lifted the ring out and into the open air, it felt so heavy that she almost dropped it.

"What's this?" he asked her.

"I-I found it," she said. "In your room this morning."

He stared at the ring in the palm of her hand, which she held outstretched in her shaking hand.

"I know you gave the ring to Annie. I know because there was this nurse at the hospital who told me she had it. She showed it to me. And I remembered it because it's so unique, and—" she sighed, shutting her eyes tightly. "I took it. I don't know why, but I took it. I'm sorry."

There was a long silence. Audrey felt her stomach give way; she thought for sure she was going to throw up. But she didn't open her eyes. Instead, she kept her arm outstretched leaving the ring—feeling heavier and heavier by the moment—as an offering.

"Aren't you going to put it on?" his voice broke through.

"What?" she asked, her eyes snapping open. But when she found his face, it was not _his_ face she saw. For a brief second, the grizzled and wild eyed face of the man in the posters, the man from her dream, the man who had killed Laura Palmer stared back at her.

Audrey's startled scream ripped from her throat as she leapt to lame feet, tripping over them in the process and landing, hard, on the polished wooden floor.

Cooper stood up. "Audrey? Are you okay?"

She scrambled to turn around, pushing herself up and back, clumsy on her shaken hands and struggling against a sudden sting in her ribs as she tried to find her footing. Her voice was thin, garbled; she'd bitten her tongue as she'd fallen, the pain of it both focusing her attention and making it harder and harder to see through the tears of pain that clouded her eyes.

"What—?" she started, tasting blood in her mouth as she tried to speak. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

He hadn't moved an inch from where he'd first stood up, but Audrey had moved herself until her back was against the wall. Using it as leverage, she pushed herself to her feet. "I thought I saw…"

"You're having a panic attack. That's all," he said, taking a half step closer. "Come now. Put the ring on and we can go have dinner."

"What?" she asked. "The ring? No."

"It was meant for you all along. It was always meant for you…"

But Audrey was suddenly not so sure. She watched his eyes—eyes she'd looked into so often she could draw them in her sleep—and saw them change, harden, flashing with meanness and anger. His smile too, no longer open and kind but hard and leering.

Like the day at the hospital.

Something was definitely not right about this.

As he took a second step forward, Audrey flinched. "Please, you're frightening me, Agent Cooper—"

"What have I told you about calling me Dale?" he asked, never losing his smile as he advanced one more step, his voice deepening unnaturally.

All of Audrey's thoughts now centered on escaping the suddenly uncomfortable position she found herself in. She cleared her throat. "I-I'm not very hungry tonight," she told him, her voice a shaky whisper. "I think I'm g-going to go h-home."

He advanced a half step, and without knowing why or where the instinct came from, she grasped the ring in her hand and threw it across the alcove in his direction; it hit his shoulder, bounced sideways, and clattered to a stop in the diagonally opposite corner behind him, far away from her.

He flashed her a curious look, his head tilted to the side. Audrey noticed that he was suddenly sweating and seemed uncomfortable in his skin; he rolled his shoulders and unkinked his neck, and several loud _pops_ could be heard as his vertebrae relaxed back into position. "Now why did you go and do that?" he asked her. "Throwing away my gift. Don't you want my gift?"

Audrey inched further away, grasping the wall behind her, willing her legs to return to their solid form so she could run. Her heart sounded loud in her ears. "I'm going home now, okay?"

But Cooper clucked his tongue as he bent to retrieve the ring from the floor. As he stood up to his full height, he shook his head back and forth. "No, Audrey. No, I don't believe you're going anywhere."

* * *

 **Meanwhile...**

"Sheriff Truman, it's Agent Rosenfield. Should I send him in?"

Andy's voice coming over the intercom startled Truman. He looked at his watch and realized that he had missed shift change; Lucy had gone home hours ago, and he was still at his desk. He shook his head. _What I wouldn't give to meet my pillow for a date and actually be able to keep it for once,_ he thought as he pushed the intercom button and returned Andy's call in the affirmative, just as the door swung and Albert strolled in, looking much the worse for wear.

Truman replaced the phone on the cradle. "Albert, tell me what you've got."

Albert dropped his coat onto the chair. "No hellos first?" he joked before opening up the heavy file folder in his arm. "The girl—Judy—was struck twice by the same instrument. The rock found at the crime scene is the murder weapon. There's no doubt about that." He paused, reading his own notes. "She was most likely rendered unconscious after the first blow, and she wouldn't have felt the second. She probably had no idea what had happened to her, and she wouldn't have suffered."

Truman sighed; it was a miniscule relief. "Time of death?"

"Between 11pm and 3am this past night," Albert said as he turned the page. "There are no clues whatsoever on the body or at the crime scene to suggest who did this to her."

Truman piped up. "I called around to the hospital. She was last seen after her shift ended getting changed to go home. She told everyone who would listen that she had a date. I've got Hawk interviewing every nurse for more info as we speak."

"Lucky guy," Albert said as he handed Truman a copy of his autopsy report; being courteous, Truman returned the gesture, handing over the documentation he'd received about Judy from the hospital, her state records, and anything else he'd managed to dig up. Albert folded open the thin manila folder the sheriff had given him and began flipping through the pages. "You should also know that Coop was right about the ring," he said.

Truman's heart sank. "You didn't find one, did you?"

"Not exactly," Albert said. "But what I did find was the _impression_ of one in Judy's back. There _was_ a ring. At the time of her death or very shortly thereafter, Judy was laying on it."

Truman shook his head. "What's so _significant_ about these rings?"

"Good question," Albert offered. "I'd say you could ask Gordon but he keeps the Blue Roses pretty close to the vest. There's some stuff that even I'm not totally up to speed about, and I've worked with the guy for years."

The sheriff was quiet for a moment. "Blue Roses?" he asked.

Albert cleared his throat and looked out the window for a spell; Truman could tell he was uncomfortable, unsure. He chewed on his words before letting them out. "Well, I suppose since you're as mixed up in all of this as we are, you might as well know." He sighed. "They're the weird cases. The ones no one else wants or the ones they can't figure out. Mysterious. Unnatural," he said. "Kinda like blue roses, I guess. Like how they don't exist in the natural world? Well, neither do most of Gordon's cases." He paused, just long enough to shrug his shoulders. "But he likes them. Handpicks the Agents he wants working on them. As far as I know, no one has ever closed one, not a single one. But until the day Gordon leaves the Bureau, he'll be head of the Blue Rose files, and guys like Cooper will be traipsing around the country to solve them."

Truman's mind whirred. "Could there be a connection to Project Blue Book?" he asked. "I mean, Windom Earle was involved in that, wasn't he? Was he one of Gordon's agents too? Maybe there's a connection there, between Laura and Teresa and the military and all that—"

"You're asking the wrong guy," Albert said. "I suppose it's possible. If I've learned anything from working with Gordon, it's that anything is possible." He cleared his throat. "But hey, since you mentioned Project Blue Book, I spoke to Garland Briggs today."

The news of a possible break brightened Truman's spirits. "And?"

"Coop was more or less on the nose. Those papers _are_ a transmission log. The military is monitoring them. Looking for little green men," Albert quipped. "Major Briggs is fairly certain these are intelligent transmissions and not random occurrences. He called them 'messages', and he insinuated that they have been conveyed from a place beyond our plane of existence, directed at someone…"

"From aliens?"

"Not unless aliens live on the side of Blue Pine Mountain," Albert said. "These transmissions came from the woods outside Twin Peaks."

"What, someone with a ham radio in a cabin?"

"Maybe," Albert said. "It'd have to be a strong radio, though."

Truman steepled his fingers in front of him, taking in the vast wealth of information that had been presented in the few minutes since Albert came in. He wished with every fiber of his being that Cooper was at the top of his game. His intuition, eye for detail, and creative thinking would have proven invaluable yet again had he been well enough to sit in on this conversation.

Albert's winded groan caught Truman's attention. He looked up from his hands. "Albert? What is it?"

Albert had the Sheriff's papers in his hands; his eyes were wide and the colour had drained from his face. "Philip Jeffries…" he said. "I had a terrible feeling about this."

Truman closed the folder in front of him. "Judy's ex-boyfriend?" he asked. "Do you know him?"

"In a sense," Albert said. "He was one of Gordon's, his top guy before Coop was recruited. Went missing a few years back. No trace. We all thought he'd given up life as a Fed to be with this girl he'd met up in Seattle—a girl named Judy."

Truman slumped. "No kidding."

"Yeah, but it gets stranger," Albert said as he closed the folder. "Last year, we were monitoring the Teresa Banks case from Philly—me, Coop, Gordon—when out of nowhere Philip comes marching into the office with a whole new demeanor, wild stories about meetings with demons above convenience stores."

Shades of Cooper's first days in Twin Peaks resurfaced—their trip to the convenience store above the Lydecker pharmacy, based on the cryptic recitation of clues from one of Cooper's dreams, a trip which yielded no demons but some of the implements used in the killing of Laura Palmer. He scratched his head.

 _Break the code, solve the crime_ …

"He rambled for a while and then he literally disappeared. I turned around one second and when I turned back the next, he was gone."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Albert said. "And if I remember correctly, this was the same day Chet—Agent Desmond, another one of Cole's Blue Rose boys, assigned to the Banks case—went missing up in Deer Meadow. Right outta thin air."

 _Two FBI Agents, both of them working for Gordon Cole, going missing within hours of each other,_ Truman thought.

"Now, maybe there are two Philip Jeffries and two Judys and this is just a massive coincidence, but when you really look at it...I mean, Desmond, Jeffries, Cooper, all of them working Blue Rose cases, all of them disappearing and reappearing like that, two of them right here in Washington State. And now these transmissions, coming from your backyard…"

"Holy smoke," Truman said, his voice cracking over the words as he fought back his emotion. _Maybe this is BOB after all…_

"I know," Albert drawled.

Truman made a fist, pressing it to his lips. _Help. Audrey._ He scratched his forehead with a knuckle. It was too much to process. Doors to horrors he thought were closely boarded up suddenly flung open again. He hadn't the foggiest idea what to do about any of it.

A commotion in the lobby briefly called Truman's attention away from his own thoughts. Albert didn't seem to notice; if he did, he didn't really seem to care.

"Y'know, I've gotta wonder," Albert started, "What ancient Native American burial ground is this town built on? You've had enough rotten luck to make a whole series of blockbuster Hollywood films, you know that?"

The racket grew louder; Truman heard Andy's voice, raised in alarm, and held up his hand for Albert to quiet down.

"You can't go in there! Not without an appointment!"

Truman stood up as the voices got closer, and as the door swung open, he prepared himself for any eventuality.

When Philip Gerard stumbled in, it was that absolute last thing he expected.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his sandpaper voice catching as he asked the question again: "Sheriff Truman, _where is she?_ "

"Who?" Truman asked. "Who are you talking about?"

Gerard groaned, clutching his shoulder. "The chosen one..." he moaned as he fell forward against the chair. Albert caught him and stood him upright as he began to shake.

Truman motioned to Andy. "Can you get Mr. Gerard a glass of water, Andy?"

The junior deputy nodded and left the room; Albert helped Gerard to the chair.

"The chosen one?" Truman asked.

Gerard nodded. "She is known to you...her father is known to you...known to all..." he muttered, still shaking. His voice was dipping in and out of phase, modulating wildly like it had previously, when they were on the hunt for Laura's killer.

"Mr. Gerard, have you taken your medication?" Albert asked.

Gerard swatted the question away, waving his hand in front of his face. "Something is happening, Sheriff Truman. Something awful is happening..."

Andy returned with the glass of water and handed it to Gerard. Truman fell deep into thought. _Her father? Chosen one? Who is he talking about?_ he wondered. _Who has a daughter we would know? Who could he be—?_

"Audrey!" he whispered.

Albert's eyes snapped to Truman's, and as Truman punched the Hayward's number into the phone, the FBI Agent pushed Gerard for more details. "What's happening?" he asked. "Where is it happening?

A busy tone buzzed in Truman's ear. He replaced the receiver on the cradle. "Busy," he said, knitting his brows together. Instincts he didn't know he possessed—the kind that came from the same place as rocks and bottles, he supposed—urged him to try again. A second busy signal sounded in his ear. _Three teenaged daughters, one phone line…it's not that unusual for the line to be busy_ , he thought.

 _And yet…_

 _After a message like this from Major Briggs, and now whatever Philip Gerard is on about, if Cooper were here he wouldn't stop until he had Audrey in his sight,_ Truman realized. __Expect no less from yourself.__

Truman rounded the desk and knelt down in front of Gerard. "Did something happen to Audrey Horne?"

Gerard's face contorted as another convulsive wave wracked his body. "I don't know her name...she is known to you..." he said. "She is known to you and to Agent Cooper..."

Albert and Truman shared a glance that said everything that needed to be said without a single word being spoken. Albert helped Gerard to his feet; Truman grabbed his hat.

"Where are we going?" Gerard asked.

"To find Audrey," Truman said. "Now."


	14. Panic

The first blow Audrey delivered connected with the side of Cooper's knee as he lunged towards her. It sent him sideways and to the ground with a cry of pain; the second landed squarely on his chest, and with all her might Audrey kicked him down and back until he was laying prone on the floor of the alcove. Her body reacted before her brain was actively processing a plan, and she found herself speeding down the polished hallway long before Cooper had even gotten to his feet behind her.

Reception was too far away; surely he'd catch her before she made it. That left the fly fishing convention out, as well; even if she could make it to the doors to the hall, she wondered how her antics would be perceived by the staff and assembled guests, for whom this wouldn't be the first time they'd seen Audrey Horne crash a hotel event in a fit of attention-seeking madness.

No, she needed a phone. A door that would lock. A room she could escape _to_ , and one she could escape _from_ if needed.

A forgotten advantage of having had a one hundred-room playhouse to explore as a child was that Audrey's cartographic knowledge of her father's hotel was unparalleled. Lightning fast synaptic responses fired off between bundles of neurons in the parts of her brain responsible for memory retention and spatial awareness as she recalled all the possible rooms she could escape to, then just as quickly cross-referenced those with the ones she knew were open to the public and were therefore least likely to be locked, and mapped out the coordinates with the fastest and most direct routes to the two rooms that ticked off each box:

 _Ancillary Guest Services Office. Main floor. East wing._

 _Down the hall, through the breakfast room, around the corner, last door on the left._

She hoped against hope that she'd see someone on her way, but as the deserted halls around her lengthened and deepened she focused only on making her escape. She realized she was on her own.

As she tumbled through the doors to the now-empty breakfast buffet room, she heard the fast-approaching footfalls of Agent Cooper's dress shoes on the hardwood in pursuit behind her, her name on his lips. She doubled down, flying on feet that no longer felt like her own through the darkened and empty dining hall, past stacked dining chairs and folded up tables, until she reached the opposite side, throwing open the door to the hallway on the opposite side.

Immediately rounding the corner to her right, she entered a long stretch of hallway lined with offices for various Great Northern staff members at the end of which was a door to the parking lot. An unstaffed satellite Guest Services office had been allocated by her father to allow visiting businessmen to park their cars and make a quick reservation for dinner at one of the hotel restaurants, to book a round of golf, or amend their travel dates without having to drive or walk around to the front of the hotel and speak to someone at reception.

Audrey had lost count of many times had Audrey heard her father refer to it as " _A nice touch for the traveling man,"_ whenever anyone asked about it or its _raison d'être_. Now, she couldn't have been more grateful for his doting attention on his hotel guests' needs as she came to slippery halt in front of the door and found it, mercifully, unlocked.

She burst into the room behind it and slammed the heavy door shut, locking both the handle and the deadbolt in one fluid motion before stepping back from the door, sliding her feet against the low-pile area rug while she struggled to catch her breath.

Cooper crashed his own body into it from the other side moments later. The door shook within its frame, and pulsed with each successive thumping it received from the fists and shoulder of the FBI Agent on the other side.

"Audrey!" he howled. "Audrey Horne! Open this door _now_!"

Audrey's hand flew to her chest and she fanned her fingers in a quick flurry of beats that she somehow thought would help her think more clearly. But her mind went blank as her body pulsed with adrenaline and Cooper's frantic jiggering of the door handle distracted her from any decision making ability she may have possessed. She sank against the wall opposite the door, sinking to the floor beside a postcard rack filled with brochures for local attractions. She couldn't process what was happening, couldn't make an attack plan.

In the hallway, Cooper had begun to plead, but the combination of the faint but methodical _tap-tap-tap_ of his fingers against the door and the mournful tone of his voice ratcheted up her panic.

"Please, Audrey," he begged. "Please let me in…"

"Go away, go away, go away," she whispered, and for a brief shining moment the sounds on the other side of the door ceased. She held her breath, listening for anything; she could still see his shadow darkening the gap under the door.

Unthinking courage forced her hand up to the desk top beside her. She grabbed the phone with trembling hands and pulled it down to her lap, dialing the first number that came to mind.

"Hello?" Donna's voice sounded on the other end.

Audrey kept her voice at a bare whisper. "Help—you have to help me."

"Who is this?"

The banging suddenly continued, more forceful and urgent than before, and as his angry shouts filled the room, Audrey abandoned all pretense to secrecy and cried into the phone. "It's Agent Cooper! He's gone mad, Donna! He's chased me into a room. I don't know what to do."

"Chased you? Who has? Agent Cooper?" Donna's voice sounded almost as panicked as Audrey's. "Where are you?"

At that moment the banging and yelling stopped. Audrey paused, listening with one ear trained on the door and the other acutely aware of Donna's voice coming through the earpiece. She stood up on jelly legs, still clutching the phone to her chest. She wouldn't dare leave the room, but she knew couldn't stay.

Audrey knew that the window at the far end of the room exited out into the parking lot. If she could climb out, she could make it to her car…

"Donna, I'm making a run for it," she said.

"Call the Sheriff's station!"

Audrey's stomach bottomed out. _Why didn't I call the Sheriff's station?!_ "I can't stay here, Donna. I have to run."

"Audrey, no! Don't! Stay th—"

But Audrey hung the phone back up and proceeded to climb onto the bookshelf beneath the only window in the room, where she popped the screen out with ease and lifted herself onto the ledge outside. Through tears and mustering all the energy and strength she had, she pushed herself up and out until she found herself standing on the dimly lit sidewalk outside.

The roar of the falls told her where to go, and without thinking she took off towards the sound, in the general direction of her vehicle. A steady downpour droned on around her, and in the dim twilight she realized that there was not a single soul in the long parking lot that stretched out alongside the river.

 _I should have stayed in the room…_ Audrey paused, considering her options. _I should have called Sheriff Truman. I could have called reception, even! Anyone…_

But she could see the Hayward's car, parked under a glowing streetlamp fifty yards away.

 _All you have to do is make it there,_ she thought, suddenly reassured. _Just start running and don't look back._

Audrey felt her arms tingle; her legs felt as if they were on fire. She took a deep breath and took off.

She rounded the corner near the front of the hotel but didn't make it any farther. A hand grabbed her around her waist and another clasped tightly over her mouth. Audrey tried to scream but the sound was muffled, and the more she fought against the arm that held her arms pinned to her sides, the tighter the grip became.

"You want to play games?" Cooper's voice sounded in her ear. "We can play games. I like games, Audrey. I like them very much."

His strength was staggering, and Audrey could do little to fight back as she was dragged kicking and struggling to the darkest corner of the Great Northern parking lot. With the last ounce of fight left in her, she twisted and nearly broke free, but Cooper brought his fist down against her face, knocking her into a delirious fugue. Searing pain ripped through her skull, and she was faintly aware of the warm, wet sensation of blood running down her face as he threw open the door. With a thunderous, guttural growl, Cooper tossed her ragdoll body across the backseat, slamming the door shut behind her.

Blood poured into her eyes and ran down the side of her face to the seat. She whimpered, her voice weak and thin.

"Agent Cooper…please…"

The last thing she heard, after the car's engine turning over and the squeal of tires on wet pavement, was the whispered words of the man she'd once called her Special Agent as he wept against the steering wheel: "I'm sorry, Audrey…I'm sorry…"

* * *

Truman and Albert sped to the Hayward house, with Philip Gerard writhing in agony in the backseat; they arrived with a screech of tires only minutes after leaving the Sheriff's Department parking lot. Lights blazed and lit up the entire street in alternating reds and blues, a vibrant contrast to the dark and cloudy skies above.

They didn't even have to knock on the door; Donna met them there, her eyes streaked with mascara and red from crying. Doctor Hayward was close behind, a look of utter bafflement on his face as his eldest daughter raced out onto the front sidewalk in the pouring rain, barefoot, to meet the two law enforcement officials.

"Did she call you? Did Audrey call you?"

Truman caught Donna by the shoulders as his stomach lurched and his worst fears were realized. "Isn't she here?"

Donna let out a wail and covered her hand with her mouth. "She's in trouble! She called and she was in trouble. Oh my god…"

"What kind of trouble?" Albert asked.

Between sobs, Donna forced her words out. "She was on a date tonight…he attacked her…she said he attacked her…"

"Who attacked her?" Truman asked.

Donna sobbed, her shoulders heaving. "Agent Cooper," she said. "Audrey and Agent Cooper…you have to find her. She was at the Great Northern. I'm sure that's where she called me from."

Albert didn't need to be told to radio for backup; he doubled back to the car as Truman let go of Donna's shoulders and stood up to his full height, he ran a hand over his lower jaw. _It can't be…_

Donna clung to her father's sweater, and the look on her face as she turned to implore him to believe her was devastating. It was all Truman needed to relent.

"All right, okay. We'll head to the Great Northern."

"I'm coming with you!" she cried.

Doctor Hayward grabbed his daughter's arm. "Like hell you are!"

Truman once again grasped Donna, clamping both hands on her shoulders to hold her at arm's length in front of him. "Hey, I promise you, we'll find Audrey. You need to stay here where it's safe."

Donna broke down crying again, tears mixing with rain on her face as she leaned against her father's shoulder.

"Doc, if Audrey returns, call the station immediately, would'ya?"

"You got it, Harry," he said, himself shaken by the thirty seconds' events that had transpired on his front lawn.

Truman turned on his heel and raced back to the truck.

"Hawk is on his way," Albert said, checking his concealed sidearm before settling into the passenger seat.

"Hurry..." Gerard muttered. "He's going to kill her..."

Truman threw the car into gear and peeled out from the curb.

* * *

" _I've failed you. I've failed all of you. There's nothing I can do to redeem myself now…_

 _"Forgive me, Audrey. Forgive me."_


	15. Alone

**8:17pm**

"Think they can stop me…think they can catch me…don't know who they're up against…make them wish they'd never set eyes on me…"

Cooper's muttering had slowed but Audrey still heard snippets here and there, his voice coming out deep and hollow, still modulated, between bursts of crazed laughter.

Audrey had lost track of time and direction. She felt groggy, stunned into laying across the backseat the entire way, turning over only to vomit onto the floor of the car. Blood that had poured from above her eye had now dried on her face; it had ruined her sweater, and puddled on the bench seat beneath her, a dark and sticky congealed mess.

Finally, the car stopped. Audrey flew forward and slammed into the seat back in front of her, cursing loudly as she made impact. The cut above her eye reopened with the force of the jolt, and as more of her own blood coursed down paths already made, she began to cry. It elicited no response from Cooper, who shut off the engine and exited the car, walking around to the trunk without so much as a glance at Audrey.

Through hazy eyes she peered out the window, trying to see where they were. The inside of the glass was fogged up, but from the smell of the air that rushed in when Cooper had opened the door, she surmised they were deep in the forest; the cold scent of wet pine and decay filled her nostrils, along with the distinct odour of dirty, burning oil.

She was afraid, but somehow undaunted. Summoning every last ounce of strength and courage from the deepest recesses of herself, she pushed her body up into a sitting position, determined to meet him face-to-face when he opened the door.

 _I can reason with him,_ she thought. _I have to try…_

The back door swung open, framing Cooper from the chest down. Audrey held herself as firmly as she could. "Agent Cooper—"

But he reached in and grabbed her by the ankle, hauling her across the bench seat towards him; she was sickened to see that he had a length of thin rope in his hands, and as survival instincts kicked in and she tried to scurry back and away from him, he began wrapping it around her ankles, binding them together.

Her words slurred as she spoke. "Why are you doing this?"

"You wanna play games?" he asked. "You're playing with fire now, little girl."

He fastened a quick knot and brought the length of the rope up, grasping Audrey's right wrist in one fluid motion. She fought to untangle herself from his grip, but he was so much stronger, and he overpowered her with ease. Soon, her wrists were bound in front of her.

"I won't run away, I promise," she told him. "We can talk it over. Whatever it is, we can—…"

But Cooper's actions preempted her words as he hauled her forward along the seat until she was sitting with her legs dangling over the edge, her toes barely touching the earth outside. He took his already loosened tie from around his neck and tied it around her mouth; stunned, Audrey could only groan against the makeshift gag. With what remained of the length of rope, Cooper trapped her arms against her waist, fastening one final knot just at her midline. With a sick smile, he licked a line from her cheekbone to her bloodied temple. Audrey fought back waves of nausea.

"I'm not your Special Agent anymore. He's gone. Long gone. Trapped where no one can find him." His laugh was shrill, piercing. Audrey shivered as she wept. "The Dale Cooper you know is never coming back, sweetheart. The good Dale is gone."

 _Good Dale?_ Audrey thought. _Does that mean there's a Bad Dale?_

Cooper continued: "Although really, there's only one of me left. Just one little old me." He paused. "And one little old you."

He patted her cheek, hard enough for her to wince. The scorched oil odour filled the car; Audrey shut her eyes and began to beg, her words muffled against the silk fabric between her teeth. She tried vainly to push it out with her tongue, but she was held fast by her own terror and the weakness in her body. She prayed she wouldn't lose consciousness; this wasn't how she wanted to die.

But then, for one blissful moment, Audrey saw his demeanour change; his eyes seemed to spark and soften, and the voice that came out had lost its hardened edge and otherworldly cadence and tone: "Audrey…listen…"

Her heart skipped a beat. It was _his_ voice. The voice she remembered. Through the haze of her own likely concussion and against the wadded cloth in her mouth, she tried to say his name.

He paused, his body shaking as if from fever; sweat poured off his brow. He rested his head against her knee. "Audrey…I'm so sorry…"

" _Please!_ " she tried to say.

But the moment was over. Hard, coal black eyes laughed at her as he pulled her from the car and into his arms, kicking the door closed and making his way around the car towards what Audrey could barely make out as a cabin set back into some bushes on the edge of the clearing where the car was parked.

"Here's the part in the story where the victim always says ' _You'll never get away with this!_ ', but I believe I already have!" he said, looking around them at the dark canopy of trees, the stillness of the forest. "No one is gonna look for you here."

As if of its own accord, the door to the cabin opened and Cooper stepped across the threshold with Audrey bound in his arms. He dropped Audrey into the middle of the room; she hit the floor hard and cried out as pain radiated from her hip and knee.

"I have big plans for you, Miss Horne. Big plans." He rubbed his hands together. Sweat continued to pour down from beneath the errant fringe of his tousled hair. "I can't have you out here meddling. So what better way to ensure you stay out of trouble than to take care of you? The way I took care of Teresa, and Laura, and Maddy?"

Audrey struggled to sit up. She twisted her neck around, moving the gag around enough that it began to loosen. With her tongue, she helped it along, pushing it out a little past her teeth, where it lay flat against her lips, only barely muffling her speech. "You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

She bit back her sobs, trying to sound stronger than she felt. "I know that no matter who you are, you aren't capable of hurting me because _he_ won't let you near me."

Cooper laughed and stretched out his arms, gesturing to the empty room around him. "He hasn't done a very good job so far, has he?"

Audrey blinked away the feeling of intense fatigue that scrambled her senses. Her tongue throbbed from where she'd bitten it earlier; her injuries from the bomb blast, the bruised ribs, her bleeding forehead and hips and knee, all ached terribly. She scanned the room, scanned his face, scanned her mind for a plan, a different tack to try. "He's not gone. The good Dale Cooper still here. He was _just here_."

Cooper continued to laugh as he reached into his pocket and produced the ring. He approached, slowly, his hand outstretched with the ring grasped between his thumb and forefingers.

Desperate, Audrey began again. "Agent Cooper—Dale…listen to me. Don't do this."

Cooper faltered, a brief second's pause, before continuing.

"I know you can hear me. I know you're in there," she continued. "Dale, _listen to me_. It's Audrey. Remember? It's me."

The sweat that stood out on Cooper's brow ran anew. He paused, swiping a hand over his forehead to remove the rivulets that had begun to course down his face only to have more tumble down after them. "He can't hear you," Cooper said.

"Yes he can," Audrey replied, directing her attention once more to the 'good Dale' she'd spoken to earlier. "It's me. It's Audrey. You can't do this to me. You won't. You have to fight. You have to fight for me!"

Cooper had stopped walking, a few feet away. She saw his hand trembling, watched as he almost lost his grip on the ring; he pulled it back within his palm and clutched it tight, wrapping his fingers up in a fist around it.

 _Whatever you're saying, it's working._

Emboldened, Audrey continued. "Dale, you can hear me. I know you can. Fight! Please, Dale. You can do this."

"Stop it," Cooper seethed.

"No, I won't," Audrey returned. "I know he wouldn't stop fighting for me. I won't stop fighting for him."

Cooper's trembling reached fever pitch. With a rasping cry, he shrank away, hitting the wall opposite her with a crashing thud.

"Please, Agent Cooper… _please_ …"

Cooper's face blanched completely, eyes softening as he sank to the floor. "Audrey…"

The pain on his face was palpable. Sweaty and pale, he rested his elbows on his knees, drawn up against his chest, and went to run his hands through his hair. The ring fell from his hand and he watched as it rolled away from him but did nothing to retrieve it. Through gritted teeth, she heard his reply. "I can't…fight him…too strong…"

Audrey felt his panic. She rolled onto her side and tried to scoot her way across the floor to him, but he scrambled away from her.

"No! Audrey, you can't. I don't trust myself…I don't trust him." He looked at his hands and his face crumpled. "Oh god, what have I done?"

Audrey was crestfallen. She lay on her side and watched him fall apart through the tears in her own eyes. For a long moment all they could do was cry silently as the enormity of the situation neither of them truly understood filled the enormous chasm between them, settling over them and between them like molasses.

"I'm so cold," she said finally, her voice a strangled whisper spoken through the veil of tears clouding her throat. "Would you untie me? Please?"

Cooper shook his head. "I can't. I don't trust—I can't—" He suddenly hauled himself to his feet, staggering a few steps towards the door.

"Don't go!"

"I'll go—I'll get help…"

"No! Please!"

He turned to face her, and for one fleeting moment, she thought her words had hit their mark, and that he would free her. But, horrified, she watched as he transformed again to the evil entity that she now knew was in control of him; he approached her and bent to her side. She could only utter a despairing groan as he readjusted the gag between her teeth, pulling it tight behind her head, and left her slumped against the floor.

She sobbed, trying to scream for help in one last desperate act of defiance and survival. Cooper stood up again and backed away, pained and inconsolable. He ran a hand back through his dampened hair and staggered for the cabin entrance, opening the door to the cabin and launching himself out into the night, leaving her bound, cold, and alone on the floor.


	16. Rescued

**8:20pm**

"Over here!" Hawk called from the darkest corner of the Great Northern car park.

Truman raced over from the side of the Hayward's vehicle, parked underneath a bank of lights near the front of the hotel. From the opposite corner of the lot, Albert's shoes could be heard slapping against the wet pavement as he approached.

"What've you got?" Truman asked as he gained Hawk's side.

Hawk was pointing at the ground. "Tire tracks."

Albert, slightly out of breath, followed Hawk's hand. "Now how in the hell do you see tire tracks?"

Hawk, undeterred, pointed off into the distance, towards the logging road that wound its way up the mountain away from the hotel. "They're from Cooper's car," he said. "There was a struggle. Muddy heel drag marks here…and here." He continued to point to muddy streaks on the shining wet asphalt. "My guess is he dragged her here, put her in the car, and then drove off up Blue Pine Mountain."

Truman looked off to the logging road, following its path as it crossed Highway 21 and snaked its way up the side of the distant mountain. He knew the road; he knew that it initially criss-crossed over Sparkwood once or twice before eventually running parallel with it. He knew that Cooper would have known that too, since they'd been driving along Sparkwood on that first night in Twin Peaks when James Hurley's motorcycle had caught their attention below the highway, on that self-same logging road. He knew that it served the now-defunct Packard sawmill, numerous campsites leading up to Pearl Lakes, and the development property around Ghostwood National Forest, snugged up against the Canadian border.

 _How are we going to find them?_

"Those are all dirt roads up there," Truman said, feeling the dejection spreading from his chest, followed closely by mild panic. He thumbed an eyebrow; his voice trembled. "Miles of 'em."

"Then let's not waste any more time," Albert said.

There was no other choice. Truman nodded, shaking himself from his stupor. "Right. Let's move," he said, and the three men made their way back to their vehicles, lights flashing as they took off from the parking lot.

The cold air rushed into the cabin with each gust of wind that blew outside, and Audrey felt her shivering ebb and flow in time with the gales.

 _I'm cold,_ she thought to herself, trying to stay calm as she narrated her situation with her internal monologue, the same way she'd observed Agent Cooper narrating to his assistant on many an occasion. _I have a concussion, and I'm going to lose consciousness soon. I'm scared but I'm not going to panic._

She closed her eyes and then snapped them open again.

 _He'll be back. He'll get help. He'll come back for me._

 _Audrey, I'm nearly there…you've got to hold on."_

Audrey lifted her head as she looked around for Agent Cooper, both fearing and hopeful that he'd returned, but found nothing and no one there. _Now I'm imagining voices,_ she thought. _I must be imagining them. There's no one here._

 _"You're not imagining it, I promise, Audrey. If you keep fighting…"_

She blinked her eyes slowly and sighed. _Am I really talking to you?_

" _Yes, Audrey."_

 _How?_ she wondered. _I'm dying, aren't I?_

" _You're not dying. I promise you, you're not dying."_

 _Then how?_

" _I can't explain it…"_

 _It's so cold…_

" _I'm going as fast as I can, Audrey."_

 _I'm so cold…_

" _Hold on, for me."_

Audrey closed her eyes and fell into a shivering sleep, one from which she wasn't certain she would awaken.

 **8:35pm**

Winding up the mountain, the headlights of Truman's truck flashed on movement in the trees ahead. With one hand on the wheel, he radioed back to Hawk a hundred yards behind him.

"I've got something. Someone on the path ahead. Over."

Hawk's voice came crackling back. "Copy that."

"It's him," Gerard muttered. "It's him, Sheriff Truman!"

Truman flicked on the high beams and illuminated a solitary figure clambering through the trees ahead on the edge of the road, coming down the mountain towards them. The rumpled suit and disheveled hair was enough to give him away instantly.

Truman put his hand on his pistol and turned on the loudspeaker atop his truck. "Agent Cooper, stop where you are."

Cooper slowed, raising his hands up in the air. Truman threw the car in 'Park.'

"It's Cooper," Truman said into the radio, addressing both Hawk in the car behind them and Albert in the seat next to him. "With caution, fellas." He turned back to Gerard. "Stay here, do you understand?"

Gerard nodded, his eyes fixed through the windshield at the bedraggled man standing in front of the truck. "Don't let him escape!" he urged. "He cannot escape...not again..."

Truman opened the door, using it as a shield between himself and the man who had staggered to a stop twenty five feet in front of the bumper. "Keep your hands where we can see 'em."

Cooper's face registered the sheriff's words. "Harry, you've got to arrest me."

In his peripheral vision, he saw that Albert had taken up a similar stance, pointing his sidearm through the open window of the passenger door. "Tell me what's going on, Coop."

Cooper took a step forward and both Truman and Albert cocked their guns, their harried warnings filling the vast forested space between their vehicle and the spot where Cooper had stopped walking.

He sank to his knees, putting his hands behind his head. "Lock me up, Harry. Please."

"Why?"

Cooper's voice was strangled, thin and weak, as he spoke. "I killed that girl. I was about to kill Audrey. I can't—"

"Where is Audrey?" Albert asked.

Cooper motioned with a tired lean of his bent elbow. "Half a mile…up that way…"

Truman glanced up into the pitch black woods. "Do you have any weapons on you?"

Cooper shook his head. "Please Harry…before he comes back…you've got to—"

"Before who comes back?"

Truman watched with deep sorrow as Cooper crumbled, his face contorting into a grimace as his mouth opened once, then again, attempting to say the words but failing each time until the third, when his jaw dropped and he let out a sigh that Truman felt as it hit him, hard, across the distance between them.

"BOB. Before BOB comes back."

Truman felt like he'd been suckerpunched. The events of the last week came into crystal focus. Cooper's words, his actions, everything that had seemed suspicious and off—all of it pointed to the truth of his situation.

He had been possessed by BOB all along.

All three men, with guns still drawn, approached Cooper's defeated body. When they reached his side, Truman made the first move, stepping forward and cuffing Cooper's wrists behind his back, with no struggle from the FBI agent whatsoever. With the threat neutralized, each man put his gun back in its holster and breathed a hesitant sigh of relief.

But before another word was spoken, a low cry from behind them drew everyone's attention away. Gerard tumbled into the clearing. In an instant, he'd gained his footing and made a beeline for Agent Cooper.

Hawk's instincts pushed him forward and he tackled Gerard, both men rolling up the road away from the vehicles. Gerard's cry of despair was haunting; it echoed through the trees, up and down the mountain.

"You can't let him go!" Gerard wept. "Do you know who this is?"

Truman, still running high on the adrenaline that had been released when Gerard flew out of the bushes, had had enough. "Throw 'im in my goddamn truck!" Truman barked, and Hawk dragged the sobbing mess that was the One-Armed Man into Truman's truck, throwing him into the backseat.

"Good lord, Harry," Albert said, his eyes wide. "What the hell is going on?"

Truman shook his head, trying to get his bearings. He nodded to Albert. "Take him back to the station. I'll keep Gerard. We've still got to find Audrey."

"I can't go near her, Harry," Cooper sobbed. "Don't let me go near her."

"I won't, Coop," he said, his tone softening.

Albert hauled Cooper up to his feet. "You sure, Harry?"

" _Go!_ " the sheriff ordered.

"Hurry…" Cooper urged. "She's so cold…so cold…"

Truman climbed back into his truck while Gerard bawled in the backseat.

"It's BOB, Sheriff Truman. You've got BOB."

" _You think I don't know that?_ " Truman shouted back. He felt he was going to be sick.

"What are you going to do with him?" Gerard asked. "He won't stop until he's killed her." Gerard choked back a series of wet coughing sobs. "She's the chosen one…the only person who can save him."

Truman started the engine, watching in his rearview mirror as Hawk and Albert took Cooper back down the mountain. _There will be time to process this when everyone is accounted for,_ he told himself, scrubbing a hand over his face. _First things first—you've got to find Audrey and—_

"You've got to hurry! You haven't much time!"

Truman could see no reason to argue. He jammed the truck into 'Drive' and raced up the mountain, tires spinning in the earth as he took off.

His headlights cut wide swaths through the darkened forest up ahead, on a dirt road barely wide enough for one vehicle to safely pass. Taking the narrow turns slowly was an agonizing practice in self-restraint, but he knew the danger of losing footing on the road and getting stuck in the soft mossy undergrowth along the shoulder. In the driving rain, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to see a cabin at all at any faster speed anyway. But eventually, at almost exactly the half mile mark from where he'd started, right where Cooper had said it would be, the truck's headlights illuminated a gap in the trees, a path about big enough to be a driveway, and he turned off the main road and up gently sloping path that led directly to a small log building within a wide clearing. Cooper's rental car sat parked outside—a good first sign—while the door to the cabin swayed open and shut with the stiff and rainy mountain breeze.

He drew the truck and cut the engine. "You stay here, Gerard, or so help me—" Truman shouted as he leapt out, gun and flashlight drawn, as he raced towards Cooper's rental car. Blood and vomit covered the backseat. Truman's stomach dropped as he turned around, looking for clues between the car and the cabin.

"Audrey? Audrey Horne?"

His feet sank into the soft, damp earth as he labored to reach the cabin door without falling. Pushing it open, he took a moment to survey the room—small, underused, no partitions save for a series of wide load bearing supports running down the center of the room. This is where he saw her, lying on her side with her back against one such post, bound and gagged and listless. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he holstered his weapon and crossed the room, kneeling at her side.

"Audrey! Answer me!"

No response. Her skin was pallid, damp and cold. He saw the gash on her right eye and the mottled mess of dried blood caking in her hairline and along her cheek. He checked her pulse, finding it to be weak and slow. Pressing one hand to her cheek, he turned her face towards his and unknotted the FBI agent's recognizable necktie from the back of her head, tugging the cold-stiffened fabric from between her lips.

"Come on, Audrey," he said. He pulled on the knots binding her wrists together, loosening it enough to slide the loops of rope over her hands and freeing them before working on the knots at her ankle.

"Dale…" she whispered.

Truman sat her up, shrugging off his own coat and draping it over her shoulders. "Audrey, can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes. "Sheriff Truman? Is that you?"

"That's right," he said, pushing back damp hair from her forehead, being careful not to touch her obvious injuries. "You're hurt."

She nodded and sobbed. "It wasn't him, Sheriff…it wasn't him…"

"Okay," he said, rubbing her arms within the relative warmth of his coat. "It's all right, Audrey. Everything's gonna be all right."

Audrey's face contorted and fresh tears tracked down the dirt and blood on her skin. She shivered deep within his jacket and leaned forward, her cheek coming to rest on the sheriff's upper arm.

"Come on, now," he whispered after a long moment. "Let's get you home."

Her reply—a softly uttered "Okay…"—was so quiet that he barely heard it. He counted to three before lifting her stiff and frigid body into his arms, folding her against him as he walked back out to his truck.

"Move," Truman ordered Gerard, who shifted over as far as he could to make room for Audrey's limp body. Truman placed her on the seat next to him and covered her with a thin flannel emergency blanket draped over the backrest before climbing in up front.

"Don't talk to her, Gerard, don't you say a goddamn word, do you hear me?"

Gerard nodded, his eyes fixed on the unconscious and badly injured woman beside him. "It's her," he muttered. "It's her…it's her…"

Truman turned the key in the ignition and as the engine sputtered to life, he flipped the heater to full blast. His hands shook as he twisted the steering wheel in his fists.

 _Get a grip…breathe…you just have to make it back to the station now…_

"Hold on Audrey," he said, spinning the truck around and winding his way back the way he came, threading through inkblack woods towards Twin Peaks.

 _Audrey stepped through the red curtains and into the zig-zag tiled room she recognized from the dreams she'd been having. This time it felt so real. She looked down at her shoes and could feel the floor beneath her toes; the injuries she'd sustained—the cut to her eye, the bumps and bruises, even the torn clothes—were all gone._

 _Confused, she advanced into the room with care and caution. It was another several seconds before she saw him sitting in the armchair to her left: a little man in a red suit._

" _Who are you?" she asked._

 _The little man turned to face her; he smiled, his thick lips splitting to reveal his tongue, which he ran around his mouth twice before lifting his hands and clapping them together. "mra eht ma I," he said, pointing to his left shoulder. "EKIM m'I."_

 _Audrey recognized that the words were backwards; she puzzled over how she could understand that. "Why do you talk like that?"_

 _The little man moved his head in a wide circle, taking in the whole of the room around him. "emoh ym si sihT."_

His home? _she wondered. "You live here?"_

 _The man nodded. "ereh gnoleb t'nod uoY."_

 _Undeterred, Audrey straightened her shoulders and pressed on. "I'm looking for my friend."_

 _"yrgna si BOB. gnir eht tsol eH."" the man said, rubbing his hands together. "ereht osla si eh tuB. sey, ereh si dneirf ruoY."_

 _Audrey swallowed hard. "Yes, I know. The ring is gone."_

 _The man raised his right arm and pointed, revealing that the ring Audrey thought was still at the cabin was in fact sitting on the little man's index finger. She gasped and took a step back; the little man laughed._

 _"taht did BOB," he said, continuing to point. Audrey suddenly clutched the side of her head in pain and realized she was bleeding again. Drops of it fell to the floor, running between her fingers and down her arm. She staggered backwards, struggling to keep her feet._

" _Bob?" Audrey asked through the pain. "Who's Bob?"_

" _dneirf ruoy si BOB dna BOB si dneirf rouY," the man said before repeating: "taht did BOB."_

 _Suddenly the pain was gone; Audrey's head was no longer bleeding and her ribs and joints no longer ached._ What is going on here? _she asked herself._

 _The man turned then, looking back over his shoulder as the curtains on the opposite side of the room parted and a figure entered the space._

 _"tnegA laicepS ruoY," the man said._

 _Audrey gasped as the figure came into the light and she recognized him as Agent Cooper. She started to walk towards him, and he turned to face her. She knew he could see her, too. And instant mix of relief and panic crossed his face. He called her name; his voice was far away, refracted and echoed._

" _Dale!" she cried, turning to the little man. "Why is he like that? Why is he so far away?"_

" _llod a rof relloH."_

 _Audrey had had enough. "Holler for a doll? What does that even mean? What doll?" She felt her anger reaching a tipping point. She turned back to Agent Cooper, only to find him fading from sight. "Bring him back! Do you hear me? Bring him back!"_

 _She doubted any of her demands would be met, but before the dream world had a chance to disappoint her, it melted from view. She was left staring into a blank nothing for several long seconds until the sound of a beeping heart monitor filled her head, and she became acutely aware that she was holding something tight in the palm of her hand…_


	17. Doses

**9:47pm**

FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper was unconscious in solitary confinement at the Twin Peaks Sheriff's Department. Audrey Horne lay unconscious in the emergency ward at Calhoun Memorial. Philip Gerard was in lockup, virtually catatonic.

Sheriff Truman sat on the steps outside the building, his head in his hands. "What in the hell is going on here?"

"Didn't I already ask you that?" a voice sounded behind him.

"If I recall correctly," Truman said as Albert came to sit down beside him.

He handed the sheriff a mug of coffee. "Cold out here."

"Thanks," Truman said, taking a sip.

"Coop's still out," Albert said. "Most of the bodies I deal with are dead ones, but I have enough medical training to tell you that physically he seems fine." His half-hearted attempt at a joke fell flat; he sighed and continued. "Heartrate, breathing, everything's normal. He's just…unconcscious." He said. "Same with Gerard. It's like the same terrible affliction is—"

"It is the same affliction, Albert," Truman said as he looked out over the distant shapes of the town silhouetted against the sky, glittering wet with raindew beneath the small sliver of waning moonlight that streamed through a patch of clear sky directly above. The rain had stopped and a calm had settled over the streets that seemed completely incongruous to the events happening in them. Truman felt uneasy in the stillness. His spine firecracked but he was unable or unwilling to move. "You heard him, same as I did. It's BOB, Albert. Somehow, he's come back. He's got hold of Cooper now."

Albert sighed. "When it was Leland Palmer, I thought maybe—just maybe—this was a psychotic break. That there was some earthbound explanation for what had happened."

"Now?"

"Now, I have to redraw the map," Albert said. "The Agent Cooper I know would have never done those things."

Truman pinched his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. "And we didn't get anything from Gerard. The man is just a goddamn mess."

"This whole thing is a bit of a mess, Harry."

"And until they wake up or start talking sense, we've got nothing to go on. So we've got to keep our friend—our friend, who's been possessed by a demon, who murdered one person and nearly killed another—"

"What happened to Leland Palmer is not what's going to happen to Dale Cooper. He is a bigger man, a stronger man, than Leland was," Albert said. "He talked to us, sidestepped BOB entirely to speak _directly_ to us. He told us where Audrey was. BOB would have let her die; that was all Coop." He shook his head. "He's aware of what's happening and he's trying to help us, direct us somehow. That's gotta count for something."

The two men sat in stoic but defeated silence, drinking from their coffee cups until the wind picked up again and streaked the clouds over the moon once more. Albert drew the lapels of his suit jacket closed against the cold.

The door to the station opened behind them. Truman turned to see Andy standing in the light. The young deputy drawled: "Audrey Horne is awake now and—"

Truman didn't need to hear more. He pushed himself to his feet. "I've gotta get down there and get a statement from her."

"—And it's the strangest thing, but at the same time—"

"Yes?" Truman asked.

"Well it's the strangest thing," Andy repeated. "Because it seems like Audrey and Agent Cooper and Philip Gerard all woke up at the _exact_ same time."

"They're _all_ awake?!" Truman asked, not caring enough to hide his frustration. "Andy! Why didn't you—?"

"I'm sorry Sheriff Truman," Andy said with a sigh as he lowered his head. "You didn't let me finish."

Truman and Albert exchanged glances. Apologies would have to wait, but Truman staggered to his feet and clapped a hand on his deputy's shoulder. "All right, Andy. Good work."

"I'll go check on the Horne girl," Albert said. "You go back and check with Cooper."

"All right," Truman nodded, as he hurried through the lobby and down the empty carpeted hallway towards the basement holding cells and interrogation rooms where Cooper had been confined.

 **10:01pm**

ALBERT ROSENFIELD: This is the taped statement of Audrey Horne, conducted by myself, FBI Special Agent Albert Rosenfield at…ten o'clock pm on Sunday April 2. We are at Calhoun Memorial Hospital in Twin Peaks, Washington. This interview is being conducted in the presence of Miss Horne's physician, Doctor Will Hayward, at the subject's request. _(papers shuffling)_ Miss Horne, how are you feeling? Can I get you anything?

AUDREY HORNE: _(weakly)_ No, Agent Rosenfield. Thank you.

AR: To the best of your ability, can you recall what happened to you this evening, from the time you left the Hayward home until your arrival at the hospital?

AH: _(slightly slurred)_ I had a date tonight. I was supposed to…meet Agent Cooper at the Great Northern Hotel for dinner. Seven-thirty.

AR: This is FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper.

AH: Uh-huh. _(pause; softly)_ I don't think he wanted anyone to know we were seeing each other…will he get in trouble? Will his supervisors hear this?

AR: It's all right, Audrey. That's neither here nor there right now, okay?

AH: Okay. _(pause; a sigh_ ) We were supposed to meet at seven-thirty, but when I arrived at the hotel I kind of had a…I think I had a panic attack. _(slowly)_ I couldn't breathe, and I felt so sick. My hand went numb. I just remember being worried about the way I was dressed, that he wouldn't think I was pretty. We hadn't been together for a while…and he had another girlfriend, maybe. I was just…I really think I was nervous about being alone with him again. _(long pause)_

AR: Audrey?

AH: I'm sorry, Agent Rosenfield, I'm just a little foggy…

AR: It's okay. Take your time.

AH: ( _pause)_ Agent Cooper had been acting strangely…for a while now, a few days. Since I first saw him at the hospital.

AR: But you still agreed to see him? Despite his odd behaviour?

AH: _(pause)_ I know what it sounds like…like I brought this on myself…

AR: I don't think that's true.

AH: Well…yesterday we spoke at the hotel and he wanted to give our relationship another go and it was exciting and romantic. But...

AR: …But?

AH: He was _so_ intense. It frightened me. So I said no. But then I thought I'd made a mistake, which is why I came back this morning, to talk to him, but…well—

 _(Long pause; background noises—Audrey sniffling, clicks and taps, buzzing)_

AR: What happened this morning, Audrey?

 _(Long pause; Audrey is crying.)_

AR: Audrey, did you and Agent Cooper have a sexual encounter this morning?

AH: _(weakly)_ Yes. _(pause)_ It was not like the first few times we'd been together. _(pause)_ He was… _rough_. He seemed almost angry at times. H-he tied me up. It was not what I expected. When it was over I fell asleep and when I woke up he was gone, but there was this ring on his nightstand and—

AR: A ring?

AH: Yes… _(pause)_ A gold ring with green and this pretty design on it. I remembered seeing it at the hospital. A nurse was wearing it.

AR: What was the nurse's name?

AH: _(long pause)_ Judy, I think? _(another pause)_ I don't want to get her in trouble, Agent Rosenfield. She was going to give it back, I swear.

AR: Give the ring back? To who?

AH: She took it from Annie. It's Annie's ring. She told me she took it from Annie. _(sniffling)_ So when I saw it on his nightstand, I wondered how he got it. Maybe he'd been the one to give it to Annie in the first place. But why would he give her a ring? _(more sniffling)_ I was confused and upset. I think he still loves her, y'know? _(pause)_ That's why I went to dinner. I was going to ask him about it, about everything. Just get things out in the open, figure it all out, and go from there.

AR: And did you?

AH: I tried. _(slight slurring)_ During my panic attack, he was trying to help me calm down. That's when I showed him the ring. And that's when he changed.

AR: Changed how?

AH: _(pause)_ Agent Rosenfield, you'll think I'm crazy.

AR: Audrey…

AH: I mean, nobody's face changes—

AR: His face changed?

AH: Well…it was like…he became…he looked like the man everyone thought had killed Laura, the man with the long hair, from the posters. And his voice changed too. He kept trying to make me put the ring on, but I panicked and tried to get away and I did, for a while, but he caught up with me and then…

AR: And then…?

AH: _(sniffling)_ He caught me and took me to his car. That's when he hit me. _(pause)_ He drove me up to this cabin and he tied me up again. He said he had plans for me, kept talking about that ring. I thought he was going to kill me. But it wasn't him. It really wasn't.

AR: How do you know?

AH: Because…because he kept talking…about a Good Dale, who was trapped somewhere. What does that mean? _(pause)_ I tried to reason with him, and you know what? He changed back. He was Agent Cooper again. _(pause)_ It was like there was two of them.

AR: What did this other Agent Cooper say?

AH: _(pause)_ That he was sorry for what was happening, that he would get help. Then…he left. _(pause)_ I remember Sheriff Truman rescuing me. I don't know how long I was up there alone. I must have blacked out.

 _(Very long pause)_

AH: I'm sorry, Agent Rosenfield, can we finish this another time?

 _(Brief static; tape clicks; silence)_

 **Meanwhile**

Ten minutes in and Cooper was no more lucid than he'd been when Truman first entered the room. He was awake and moving, but his words were garbled and inchoerent. He lay curled in a ball in the corner of the room, wearing leg irons and handcuffs as per his request when he was first brought in. His suit was rumpled; his hair damp and at odds with the carefully coiffed style he normally wore. His skin was sallow and clammy.

In short, he looked frightful.

His actions, however, were more gut-wrenching than his appearance. His grotesque, warped voice alternated between mumbled cries of agony and angry threats of violence. It was hard to listen to, but the longer he did, the more Truman was convinced that the man laying prone in the corner, whose muscles twitched and seized epileptically and whose words were carefully barbed and aimed to cut deep to the core of whoever happened to be listening, was not the same man who had come into their lives six weeks earlier.

Truman had taken up a post in a chair beside Cooper's prone body, where he could watch his friend and prevent any attempts at self-harm in the same vein as Leland Palmer's actions under the influence of BOB mere weeks earlier.

 _In this same room_ , Truman thought with a sad sigh.

"Audrey…" Cooper murmured, his voice hollow and far away but less distorted than it had been only a moment before.

It was the only understandable word that he'd uttered in those ten minutes.

"What about Audrey?" Truman asked.

"Holler for a doll…" Cooper whispered.

"What's that?"

Cooper simply groaned and tried to roll over in response. Audrey's name came out once more, weak and thin as it wisped from his lips.

 _Holler for a doll…that makes no sense._ Truman leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Come on, friend. Help us out here. What's happening?"

Cooper shuddered. "I don't…I can't…"

"Can't what?" Truman asked, desperate to hold onto the tattered threads of conversation he had been given.

"I…" Cooper began before his lips curled into a menacing sneer and his back arched painfully, stretching the shackles to their limits. "You'll never stop me. You can't. You aren't strong enough."

Truman sat back in his chair, ignoring the voice coming from his friend.

Cooper just laughed. "It's just like with Josie. You didn't even know who she was, Harry. You failed so spectacularly then and you'll continue to fail now. Better to just stop trying," he cackled.

Truman focused all his energy on disengaging; the sting of it all, and especially hearing Josie's name spoken by the voice of the demon who'd killed her, struck deep. He turned his face to look at Cooper's, but saw no recognition in the younger man's eyes.

Finally, a knock called Truman's attention away from his friend for a brief second, and as Hawk unlocked the heavy door, Cooper began to mumble again beneath his breath. Frustrated, Truman ran his hand through his hair.

"Anything?" Hawk asked.

Truman shook his head. "Nothing, except I am absolutely positive that this isn't Agent Cooper."

On the floor in front of him, Cooper writhed and convulsed, his mouth open wide and teeth exposed, trying to intimidate. "You think your preciously quirky Special Agent isn't capable of being violently homicidal? Criminally insane?" he laughed. "Read the report. I tried to eat Audrey Horne this morning. Did you know that? It's all there!"

Hawk held a piece of paper in his hand. "This _was_ just faxed over," he said, without acknowledging Cooper's comments. He turned the paper over to the sheriff. "Poor kid took a real beating…"

"'Course she did," Cooper cackled, roaring in pain as another roiling wave of spasms wracked his body. "I take pride in my handiwork…" he added through tight teeth.

Truman's eyes scanned the sheet. "Moderate concussion with lethargy, vomiting present. Applied adhesive skin closures—butterfly stitches—to large wound above right eye. Bilateral abrasions on ulnar and radial wrist and both ankle joints. Numerous bruises and aggravated injuries from previous incident. Large bite mark on left breast…" Truman put the paper down and scrubbed a hand over his face before looking at Cooper again. "Jesus…"

"Tell me about it," Hawk said.

Truman sighed. "Did you get anything from Gerard?"

Hawk shook his head. "He's just muttering now, about protecting Audrey, mostly."

At that moment, the two-way radio clipped to Truman's belt crackled. "There's a phone call for you, Sheriff Truman," Andy said.

Cooper mewled. " _There's a phone call for you, Sheriff Truman_ ," he said, sing-songing his way over the words. "Your lapdog needs you."

He looked up at Hawk, who took over the seat Truman vacated as he stood up to get to the telephone in the hallway outside, leaving his first deputy in charge of the room.

Out in the hall, hands trembling, Truman picked up the beige phone receiver and punched the blinking button, initiating a connection with the outside line.

"Harry here."

It was Albert. "Just finished with Audrey Horne. Doc Hayward is taking her home as we speak. I'll finish our conversation in the morning—she's in real bad shape, Harry."

"I know—I just read the physician's report Will faxed over to the station."

"Has Coop said anything to you?"

"Not really," Truman said. "BOB though, he's popped in to say hello a few times." He sighed. "It's like how Gerard acted when he wasn't on his medication, when he hadn't had his haloperi—"

 _Holy smoke!_

"Sheriff Truman?"

"'Holler for a doll.' Albert, that's what it means—'Holler for a doll.'"

"Is _everyone_ speaking in code today?"

"Haloperidol!" Truman said turning back to the room. "My god! If we give Cooper a dose of haloperidol, maybe we can reverse BOB's hold on him, temporarily anyway, until we figure out—"

Albert was silent on the other end. "Jesus…that might just work."

"There are syringes in the evidence lockup," Truman said. "I don't know how much to give him."

"Don't," Albert said. "Babysit him for a few minutes more. I'll be right over."

Truman listened to the dead air for a long moment before replacing the receiver. He had to compose himself before walking back into the interrogation room. Their plan, however half-formed it might have been, was the only thing they had to go on.

 _It had better work_ , Truman thought. He tugged on his shirt and tried to affect composure through his posture, hoping his trepidation was well hidden beneath the calm veneer. Then he unlocked the door and stepped back into the holding room.

"Hawk, we need a syringe of haloperidol."

Hawk immediately sussed out the sheriff's meaning and got to his feet. "On it."

The two men once again switched places as Hawk took off out of the room. Truman knelt down beside his friend.

"We're gonna try something, Coop. Remember the One-Armed Man?"

Cooper's head nodded ever-so-slightly. "Do it," he whispered, his bisected voice sending ice into Truman's veins. He squeezed Cooper's shoulder and maneuvered himself to the floor; Cooper rested his head against the sheriff's knee.

Truman's faith in their sudden plan was bolstered dramatically. It had to be. He needed to believe that it would work, if only so that the all-too-frail human at his side could have a fighting chance of living to see another morning. This seemed the only way to ensure that—haloperidol, the powerful anti-psychotic, had been enough to stave off MIKE's incursions into Philip Gerard's real world psyche; didn't it also mean that it could hold off BOB.

Truman dug deep, pushing the sweat-dampened hair from Cooper's dirt-smudged forehead and moved closer so the Agent could rest his head fully against his leg.

"You're the strongest person I know. The finest lawman. A true friend," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "You're fighting a dangerous battle, but you're going to win. Because you're not alone. Do you hear me, Cooper? We're gonna be right here the whole time."

Cooper shivered; the shackles on his hands and feet rattled. "Audrey," he whispered.

"Audrey's gonna be fine."

Cooper coughed; another forceful paroxysm seized its way from Coop's shoulders down to his toes, and he strained and bucked against the restraints once more.

"Keep fighting," Truman said. "Albert is on his way."

"God damn J. Edgars," the agent drawled, his voice deepening as the demonic alter-ego took over once again. "Good for nothing layabouts. What do they think they can do to me?"

Truman held his friend's shoulder while the vitriol subsided, saying nothing.

It seemed like only a few minutes passed before Albert arrived, bursting into the room in a flurry of movement and with Hawk at his heels. He already had his suit jacket off and was rolling up his sleeves, preparing for work. Hawk had the evidence bag containing what was left of their supply of haloperidol from Philip Gerard's treatment a month ago and he set the bag on the table in the centre of the room, while Albert fished out a fresh syringe from within.

"Five milligrams should be enough for now," he said, eyeing the needle as he filled it from the vial of medication.

"How will you know?" Truman asked.

Albert spanned the room in three steps, coming to kneel down beside Cooper. "The effects are virtually instantaneous when taken intravenously, and they should last two to three hours, if we're lucky," Albert said. "Roll up his sleeve."

Truman pulled the suit jacket down from around Cooper's shoulders to as far as it would go on his arm before hitting the cuffs; then he unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeve, exposing a section of Cooper's forearm from wrist to elbow.

Cooper began to snarl again. "You think you've got a plan, G-Man?" he menaced. "Your plans are nothing compared to the fury we can unleash."

"Can it, Casper," Albert replied as he pressed the sharp needle tip to Cooper's inner elbow and dispensed the entire syringe. Cooper writhed on the ground, as if in pain, unleashing shouts and hollers that echoed painfully in the small room. But in the span of a few seconds he was transformed. His shivers ceased; the spasmodic jerking of his muscles calmed; his breathing deepened and evened out.

After a very long moment, his body stilled, and he began to cry.

"I'm sorry…" Cooper whispered. "I let him in…"

"You did no such thing," Albert reassured him, but Cooper was having none of it. He curled as much as he could into himself and wept bitter tears as the full memories and enormity of the situation hit him for the first time in days.

"You need to talk to Audrey…"

"Already did," Albert replied.

"No, she was here," Cooper said. "Here in the Red Room. She dreams it. That's how I've been talking to her…"

"You've been talking to her?" Albert asked.

Truman added: "In her dreams?"

Truman and Albert looked at one another as the slow realization dawned on them that Audrey may not simply be an innocent bystander accidentally caught up in this dangerous game after all.

Cooper nodded slowly. "I know it sounds crazy. But please…if BOB were to get to her again—"

Truman cut him off. "That _won't_ happen."

Truman remained steadfast as his friend's side, soothing a hand up and down his arm as he broke down, relaxed, and finally fell to sleep.

Several long minutes had passed as they waited for Cooper's fatigue to overtake him. Albert was leaned against the wall adjacent to them, his elbows resting on his knees. He checked his watch. "I'll take first shift."

Truman nodded. He didn't really want to leave, but he was running on fumes. "I'll catch forty upstairs."

"Take eighty," Albert said with a half-smile as he settled in against the wall.

Truman sighed; his eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. "I have so many more questions now than I did before."

"Tell me about it."

"Did Audrey tell you anything about her dreams? _Anything_ about Cooper or being in this red room?"

Albert shook his head. "Like I said, she was in rough shape. Obviously concussed. In shock, too."

"I don't want her drawn into…"

"I think it's a little late for that," Albert replied. "She's romantically involved with the bodily host of a demonic spirit from some plane beyond the veil of our existence. Apparently, she's also able to communicate with the trapped soul of our intrepid Eagle Scout whilst in Dreamland. And you've got a delirious one-armed man in a room down the hall who believes she's the chosen one destined to save Cooper's life." Albert lowered his voice. "This isn't all coincidence, Harry. She's being targeted. Which makes her a part of this whether we want her to be or not. We can mitigate the harm to her, protect her and keep her safe, but we can't exclude her. Not now."

Truman shut his eyes and nodded, realizing with a heavy heart that Albert was right. "We need a plan then," he said. "I'm not losing another person to this… _whatever_ this is."

Albert nodded. "We've got enough haloperidol to last us for a few days. We can get more. The risks to him are relatively small. He could stay on haloperidol for life if necessary."

Truman shook his head. "That's not good enough," he said. "We've got to get him back. _All_ of him."

"Well how do you propose we do that?"

Truman carefully extracted himself from beneath the slumbering body of Agent Cooper and stood up against the wall. "We go back to Glastonbury Grove."

"We do?"

"What else do you suggest? That's where it all happened, isn't it? It's the gateway to the Lodges. All we have to do is find a way in."

Albert made a face and spread his arms wide. "Open sesame?"

Truman shoved his hands into his pockets and wracked his brain trying to remember how they arrived at the answers the last time. _Planetary conjunctions, something about fear and love being the key…_

"I don't know. I honestly don't," Truman admitted.

"Maybe we ought to get Gerard and Audrey in a room together," Albert said.

Truman looked down at Cooper. "Is that wise?" he asked. "If BOB's host can't go near Audrey, how can we expect MIKE's host to?"

Albert shrugged. "I hear your concerns, Harry, but I'm at a loss here."

Truman's breath hitched in his throat as he thought about compromising Audrey's safety, knowingly, in the service of a case. It had been scarcely a handful of hours since he'd pulled her from the mountain cabin where she almost certainly would have died had he not arrived when he did. When he remembered her frigid skin and how pronounced her lethargy had been, his protective hackles raised.

Cooper wouldn't have allowed it either, Truman knew. But Cooper had reached out to Audrey, too. There had to be a reason for that. Gerard's mumbled words at seeing Audrey that night—his reverent cries, " _It's her, it's her…_ "—lingered in Truman's mind. Maybe there was something more to Benjamin Horne's daughter, Dale Cooper's one-time lover, something that tied her to this case more intimately than they could guess?

"Tomorrow then," he said finally, adding: "Supervised. And only if Audrey agrees."

"Absolutely."

Both men remained silent for a long moment before Truman yawned and pushed himself away from the wall. "Really, I can take the first shift," he offered.

"Go to bed, Harry. If you don't sleep, you're no good to any of us."

Truman nodded. "Fine." He trudged across the room. "A couple hours, that's all I need."

"My guess is Coop'll be out for at least that long," Albert said. "I'll call you if I need anything."

"Yeah," Truman muttered. "Yeah, all right."

"Good night, Sheriff Truman."

He stopped in the doorway, turning back to look at the scene he was leaving behind. _A veritable FBI slumber party_ , he thought ruefully. Hand on the door, he nodded. "Good night, Agent Rosenfield."


	18. Decisions

**Monday, April 4  
1:04 am**

Audrey stared at herself in Donna's vanity mirror, where she'd been sitting, unmoved, since she stepped out of the bath twenty minutes earlier. She was so exhausted, but was under strict orders to not sleep more than an hour at a time. Instead, she was focusing on the face that stared back at her, the one she would have to get used to for a while, so soon after having gotten used to the one she had before, with all its scrapes and bruises recoloured and bolded by the events of the last six hours.

 _It hasn't even been six hours,_ she asked herself as she sighed, touching her fingertips to the marks on her skin.

The swelling above her right eye had gone down dramatically after treatment at the hospital. Doctor Hayward had put two butterfly stitches over the gash to close it and covered that with a sterile square bandage. From under its corners she could see the broken blood vessels, the mottled purple and red that belied the injury beneath. She knew it would scar but she didn't dare peek beneath the bandage to see how the scar would look, whether it was clean and straight or jagged and ugly, whether it bisected her eyebrow or stayed above or below. All she could feel was the pain, and it felt like the whole side of her head had been caved in, and so was no help in narrowing down the precise placement.

 _If I look at it, I'll remember how I got it_ , she thought to herself. _I don't want to remember that…_

Everything ached. From her headache to the rubbed-raw pain of the friction burns on her ankles, she was a mess of bruises and scrapes that made every single movement an exercise in torture. Even breathing hurt.

As she catalogued the mess of marks and bruises on her face, she noticed a bit of dried blood and dirt on the edge of her nostril. Panic set in as she rubbed the spot, first with her fingertip and then with the cuff of her sleeve, and when it wouldn't come out, she took a closer look and realized there was nothing there to begin with. It was a shadow, cast by the light of the lamp reflected in the mirror.

She broke down.

"Oh Audrey," Donna cooed behind her, and Audrey startled, wincing as her body tensed.

"I'm okay," she whispered through gritted teeth.

"You're not."

She turned around to face Donna, faking a smile that lasted only a half second before the tears began anew.

"You would think the trauma of a massive explosion would be the worst thing to happen to someone, but honestly?" Audrey shrugged as her tears spilled over her lashes and she began to hate herself a little with each passing second her weakness shone through. "What happened tonight was—"

Donna pitched her arms gently around Audrey's shoulders as she cried.

"The real horrible thing is that the longer I sit here away from him the more I feel I need to help him," Audrey said.

Donna pulled away. "Audrey! No, you can't. He nearly killed you!"

"It wasn't him, Donna."

Donna wore her confusion plainly on her face. "What on earth are you talking about?!"

So Audrey explained it all—how his personality was split, how there were two Dales, and how the Good Dale was trapped and the Dale that existed in the real world was the Bad Dale, an evil version of himself. She talked about the dreams and how she wondered now if the Good Dale was trying to speak to her from the other side, and how horrible she felt that she hadn't figured it out until that night. She offered no explanations, no theories; she tried to stick to the facts as she knew them. At times, her sentences rambled beyond her own ability to reel them back in, and at other times she heard what she was saying and could scarcely believe she was saying it. She wouldn't have blamed Donna for marching out of the room, calling her father in, and begging him to perform a psychological evaluation on her right then and there.

Instead, Donna listened, first with palpable fear—her shock registering in her eyes and the way her jaw dropped and hung there—but eventually she leaned forward, regarding Audrey and the story she told with open curiosity.

When Audrey was done, Donna was quiet for a long time before speaking. "Poor Agent Cooper," she whispered. "If he's trapped there, and no one knows—"

"Well _I_ _know_ ," Audrey said, her voice coming out angrier than she'd intended. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Donna. I'm just…I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Did you tell the police?"

Audrey nodded. "They must think I'm insane. But I didn't know what else to do. How can I help him if I don't know what to do?" She sighed. "I really just want to help so badly and—"

"Maybe it's not your _place_ to help," Donna said. "Let Sheriff Truman handle it. It's his job, right?" She soothed a hand over Audrey's. "You should stay here and rest. Get your strength back. You have a concussion, after all, and this has been a traumatic experience for you, and—"

Audrey shook her head. "But Agent Cooper reached out to _me_ , Donna. He did that for a reason." She looked down at her hands. "Why me?" she asked, looking up again at Donna. "I owe it to him to figure that out, y'know? He saved my life. He made me feel important and loved when no one else did. And now that he's gone, now that he's in trouble, I can't just abandon him, can I?" She swiped at her cheeks as tears began to fall. "The police are just going to lock him away for this. But I'm telling you, it wasn't him! So how can I turn my back on him now?"

Donna was silent, thoughtful. "You're right," she said finally.

"I am?"

Donna nodded. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love to forces that are beyond your control. I lost Laura that way. In a sense, it caused James to leave too," she stopped as her own emotion clouded her voice. She swallowed, the line of her throat bobbing painfully up and down as she did so, forcing down her tears. "If you need to do this, Audrey, I'll help however I can."

Moved beyond her ability to respond, Audrey simply leaned forward, embracing Donna's and ignoring the pain as she sobbed. "Donna Hayward, you are simply the best person."

Donna returned the embrace with a slight laugh. "I don't know about that, Audrey. I'm just…I want something good to come out of all of this awfulness."

Audrey pulled away and wiped tears from her eyes. "Me too," she admitted. "Obviously I also want Agent Cooper to…" Audrey choked down a sob, sitting up and closing her eyes. "I just want him safe. I want everyone to be safe."

Donna lifted her hand to smooth down the flyaways in Audrey's still damp hair. "What should we do? What can _I_ do?"

Audrey took a breath. "I have to go back to the station tomorrow morning and finish my statement," she said.

"I'll go with you if you want," she said, grasping Audrey's hand in hers. "I'll drive."

"Really?"

Donna nodded. "I don't want you to have to do any of this alone."

Audrey hadn't felt this confident in a long time. But it was tempered by the fatigue she was battling. Her smile faltered as a deep yawn overtook her. Donna clucked her tongue.

"I think you could probably sleep right now," she said, getting up and turning down her own bed instead of the pullout cot Audrey had been sleeping in. "Get in. I'll wake you up in an hour."

"It's a school night, Donna," Audrey said. "You need to sleep too."

Donna shook her head. "It's fine. I need to finish reading this book for English class anyway."

Audrey looked at the soft pink flannel sheets and quilted comforter. She ached to sleep. "Just forty-five minutes."

"That's all you're allowed," Donna joked as she helped Audrey to her feet and led her over to the bed. "I'll wake you up. Don't worry."

Audrey climbed in and Donna pulled the blankets back over her. As she curled beneath the blankets, her hands found the pockets of her robe. She reached inside, sheathing her cold fingers within the fleece-lined pockets, closing her fingers around the object nestled in the bottom corner. It no longer frightened her, the ring that she'd woken up with in the hospital. Far from it; now, it soothed her, its presence a comfort. She still wouldn't put it on, but she wouldn't let it off her person, not for anything.

 _The little man gave it to you. He knows where Agent Cooper is. He knows how to find him…_

Audrey turned the ring around in her fingers a few times and prayed that she would dream that night. Within seconds, Audrey felt the pull of slumber, and before a minute had passed, she was sound asleep.

* * *

" _srood eht nepo evlo dna raeF."_

 _Audrey looked around the red room for the source of the voice—a different voice, one not belonging to the little man at all—but found the space to be utterly empty. She kept quiet, ears trained, listening to the vastness._

" _srood eht nepo evlo dna raeF."_

 _I don't know what that means," she whispered. "What doors?"_

 _"?m_ _ih evol uoy oD"_

 _"Him?" she asked. "Agent Cooper?"_

 _"srood eht nepo evlo dna raeF" the voice continued._

 _Audrey urged forward. "What are you talking about?"_

 _Before Audrey could get any further, the room began to disappear around her, fading into blackness…_

* * *

 **Monday April 3  
9:29 am**

Sheriff Truman sat on the edge of the Hayward's deck; beside him, Audrey Horne huddled within a heavy parka. Her small feet were shoved inside a pair of moccasin boots laced up around her calves, while her hands—nail varnish chipped, cuticles red, chapped, and peeling—circled a ceramic mug filled with coffee.

Truman had plenty of background in dealing with delicate situations like this one. There was his mandatory training when he first became an officer. He'd been to several more since then, as the demands on the job and the changes in the make-up of the country forced law enforcement officials to adapt to the times. Add to that his years of on the job experience and he felt more than capable of being sensitive and professional in the face of even the most horrific of situations.

The last six weeks had tested him severely, but now as he watched Audrey Horne process the aftermath of her harrowing ordeal, he realized he was woefully out of his element. There didn't seem to be enough words to provide solace, and even if there were he wasn't entirely sure he knew what they'd be. Even his physical presence, he sensed, was something of an intimidating impediment to Audrey's comfort; he offered a wide berth between himself and where she sat, making herself as small as she could be within her big coat and shoes. She looked like a little girl playing dress up.

In fact, he suspected that was an entirely too apt description for her.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the silence that lingered around them but unwilling to say more to break it. Audrey tensed and sat up a little straighter.

"Still can't get warm, I guess," she told him with a mirthless laugh as she pressed her hands around the cup, her nose in the steam rising from its center.

"Other than that?"

Audrey nodded. "I'm okay," she said with a shrug. "I don't know. How are you supposed to feel after something like this?"

"Shocked, I suppose," he offered. "Afraid."

Audrey's thousand mile stare spoke volumes. She sipped from the coffee cup.

"Did you sleep?"

"An hour at a time," she said. "Doctor's orders."

"Right."

Audrey squished the toe of the boot against a patch of moss on the wood beneath her feet. "I keep getting myself in trouble, don't I? And you keep sweeping in to save me, first at One Eyed Jack's and now this..."

Truman was genuinely taken aback. "I didn't—"

"You did," Audrey replied, turning back to look at him square in the face for the first time since he'd arrived. The patchwork of bruises on her face were a lingering reminder of what she'd been through, how lucky she was to have escaped at all and with only those injuries, not something far worse. But she smiled a little, and it was as if the sun came out. "Thank you," she told him.

 _It's my job_ , he almost said. But he knew this went far beyond being simply a job. Everything about this, from every angle, was personal now. A best friend possessed; a woman who had grown up under his watch savagely assaulted; a town in shambles.

He didn't know what to do anymore. He was at a loss, totally and completely. So instead of speaking, he simply nodded, bowing his head to hide the emotion spilling over his face.

She turned back out to the yard. "Agent Cooper saved me too, in his own way," she whispered around another small laugh that tapered off to nothing almost as soon as it left her mouth. She stared out over the grass and the hills beyond it. "How is he?"

Truman looked down at his boots. "I'll be honest with you, Audrey…it's not good."

She sighed and took another sip of coffee. "I want to help," she said, but before he could reply her, she had launched herself into the standard list of very good reasons why she shouldn't be involved. "I know it's police business and I'm just a high schooler, and yeah, Agent Cooper did hurt me but he _didn't_ , not _really_ , and—"

Truman held up his hand. "Actually, Audrey, if you want to know why I came to see you this morning, it wasn't just a social call."

Audrey turned to look at him, her eyebrow quirked up in inquisition.

"There's a man at the station who helped us find you last night," Truman continued. "We think he knows where Cooper is, and he knows how to get him out. He thinks you can help."

"How?" she asked. "Just tell me how, and where, and when…"

She didn't stop talking but Truman wasn't listening to the words anymore. Instead, he watched her carefully, amazed at what he was witnessing. If she was afraid, she was hiding it well. There seemed to be no hesitation on her part whatsoever. Twelve hours after her torment at his hands, Audrey was offering herself up to help Agent Cooper; there were no questions, no accusations. She had no judgment. She knew he was possessed; she knew he was stuck somewhere with no hope of getting out on his own. She knew—exactly and all too well—what he was capable of in that state. And yet she still said the words he'd both hoped she would say and hoped he'd never hear from her lips.

She wanted to help.

As he watched her, Truman heard her voice in his head— _You keep sweeping in to save me_ —and wondered if that was necessary. Deep down, he knew that Audrey Horne would never need rescuing again. Little Audrey Horne—the child who had fallen off her bike and scraped her knee at age 6 and had come crying to him as a young deputy to patch it up; the girl he had taken out for ice cream one day at age 10 after she'd packed all her belongings into a tartan purse so she could run away from home only to have her father's valet drive her to the Sheriff's department instead; the teenager who sat alone at Dougie Milford's wedding four summers ago with a bow in her hair and no one to dance with until he stepped up and offered to teach her how to waltz—had grown up. She'd become wise, more capable than most people thought, and driven by untamable tenacity; she was, after all, a Horne by blood, her father's daughter through and through.

Audrey was all of those things and now, on top of everything, she'd fallen in love with an FBI Agent, a man who now needed her help more than ever. If Truman knew women—and he fancied that he did—he knew she would be prepared to do whatever was necessary to save Cooper's life.

It was his turn to stare out over the expanse of manicured grass behind the Hayward home. Then he pulled a notebook from his inside pocket and clicked the end of the pen clipped to the cover.

"Audrey, why don't you tell me about these dreams you've been having…"


	19. MIKE

**12:28 pm**

Donna pulled up to the Sheriff's Department front door. She turned to Audrey, sitting painfully upright in the passenger seat.

"Are you sure you're okay to do this?" Donna asked.

Audrey ran her fingers along the cuff of the sleeve of her jacket, counting the wales in the corduroy as she scored her thumbnail over the fabric. "Sheriff Truman says this man knows where Agent Cooper is, Donna," she said. I have to talk to him."

Donna turned back to look out the windshield again. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked. "I don't mind missing fifth period calculus…"

Audrey grinned. "No, it's okay. I'll be fine." She unbuckled her seatbelt with shaking hands and squeezed her fingers into fists before shaking them out, taking three deep measured breaths, and opning the car door. "Thanks Donna. Really. I'll be okay."

"All right," Donna replied. The girls smiled at one another as Audrey shut the door behind her; it shut with a heavy bang that startled Audrey even though she knew it was coming. She closed her eyes and scolded herself as she stepped back onto the sidewalk, watching Donna maneuver the family car out of the parking lot and back onto Cedar.

Her head felt tethered four feet above her shoulders; faint and weary, she focused all her energy on finding the ground. She flexed her toes, squeezed her fingers shut, rolled her shoulders. _Now or never,_ she told herself. One more deep breath filled her lungs before she turned and walked up the steps into the station.

Sheriff Truman was there to meet her and Audrey smiled out of politeness and convention rather than want. Her heart pounded in her chest and thudded in her ears.

His smile was more than reassuring, as if he knew she was upset and was doing everything he could to channel his own strength in her direction. Her lightheadedness, which had threatened to float her away moments earlier, disappeared as his hand came to rest on her shoulder. For a moment, she felt rooted and calm again. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"It's gonna be real simple," he said. "The man we want you to talk to is in the conference room, right there."

"He's not like the other one right?" she asked. "Like…BOB?"

Truman shook his head. "No, Audrey. He's not violent. He doesn't want to hurt you. He wants to help."

Relaxing visibly, Audrey closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "I want to help too. We want the same thing."

"Exactly."

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and tried to calm the fluttering in her chest. "Will you stay?"

"Of course," he replied. "I'll be in there with you. So will Albert Rosenfield and Deputy Hawk." He bent his head to look her in the eye. "Audrey, I promise you, if anything goes awry, if you feel uncomfortable, anything at all, we'll stop everything. Do you understand?"

Audrey nodded. "I know," she said, squaring her shoulders. "I know…"

The sheriff led the way into the conference room. As he opened the door, three sets of eyes turned to watch her walk in. She hesitated, briefly, pulling at the hem of her sweater beneath her coat as she walked around the table and sank into an empty chair, with her back to the window. She recognized Deputy Hawk and Agent Rosenfield. The man in the middle, sitting directly across from her, looked as if he were ready to cry.

"Philip Gerard, this is Audrey Horne," Truman said. "Audrey, Philip."

Audrey studied him for a long moment. He had kind eyes, she noticed, despite or perhaps because of their sadness. His hair was salt and peppered and matched his beard. He seemed nervous, as nervous as she was, and for some reason that set her at ease in a way she hadn't expected. Surprising even herself, she stood up and reached across the table to shake his hand.

"Hi Philip," she said.

"H-hello."

She bit her lip and looked at his left side, where his arm should have been. "You only have one arm."

Audrey instantly blushed, regretting the _faux pas_. Gerard offered a small, self-conscious smile and nodded. "It was a long time ago."

She looked at him intently for a long moment, watching his eyes, noticing the way the pulse point on his neck throbbed with each skittish heartbeat. "Your name isn't Mike?" she asked.

Gerard shook his head. " _He_ is called MIKE but I am not."

She folded her hands on the table in front of her. "I dreamt about someone named MIKE…"

"And I've dreamt about you," he said.

"I think I knew that already," she said.

Gerard was silent for a long moment. He splayed his hand on the table top, running his fingertips across the grain and around in tiny circles. When he spoke, his voice had deepened considerably

"Audrey, he's chosen you."

Audrey leaned forward. "Chosen me for what? Who has chosen me?"

"The love which he bears for you is stronger than the evil that lives within him."

Audrey felt her skin prickle. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you know that you're the one who is going to save Agent Cooper?"

The room and her focus within it narrowed until she felt it was only the two of them, speaking directly to one another. Her ears hummed; her vision tunneled. "Me?" she asked.

He nodded.

Audrey's mind whirred as her hands fell into her lap and she sat back against the conference room chair. "But how—?"

"You have something of ours."

Audrey felt the ring in her pocket, and pressed her fingertips to the smooth circular outline it made in the fabric of her skirt. She nodded. "Yes."

"It does not belong to you," Gerard said. "It was never meant for you. But he lied and told you it was yours the first time it was given to you." Gerard lifted an eyebrow as he asked: "He broke our rules, Audrey, and he must pay for it. He cannot be allowed to commit such acts."

"You can have it back," she said, reaching into her pocket.

A shadow passed over Gerard's face. "When _he_ gave it to you, it was not meant for you. This time, _I_ gave it to you. This time, it is _yours_."

Audrey shook her head.

"You must restore balance. You must return the ring to its natural state, reestablish its original purpose. This is the only way to save Agent Cooper."

Fear filled Audrey's heart. "But I don't know what you mean."

Gerard leaned forward across the table. "Do not give in, Audrey Horne," he said. "Fear will be your downfall. You must have strength. You must have courage."

She pleaded with him. "But I don't know what to do."

"You will know, when it is time."

Audrey felt like crying. But before she could say another word, Gerard clutched his empty shoulder. Sweat that had beaded along his forehead began to drip down into his eyes, and he began to shake. The room around her snapped back into focus as the two men on the opposite side of the table from her leapt to their feet and busied themselves over the trembling body between them.

Beside her, Truman stood, pushing her chair back against the window and tugging at Audrey's arm to get her to stand back. He positioned himself between the edge of the table and Audrey, who peered around the sheriff's shoulder at the scene unfolded across the room.

"I need my medicine," Gerard howled, looking to Albert, who reached into a bag hauled up onto the table for a syringe and a small vial containing a clear solution. These he placed on the table before tearing into the syringe package and drawing up a full dose. Everyone watched as the man twitched and shook from the violent spasms ripping through his body, until Albert plunged the needle into the man's forearm. Within seconds, the shuddering tremors had ceased, and Gerard's head lolled back against the chair.

After a moment of tense silence passed, Audrey let out a breath. "What was that?"

"Why don't you tell us," Albert said.

Audrey knit her brows together. "What do you mean?"

Truman's hand found the small of Audrey's back. "Neither one of you said a single word that entire time, Audrey. You asked about his arm and—"

Audrey shook her head. "No…are you sure?" she asked. She suddenly felt very sick, and very confused. A headache brewed, radiating from the gash above her eye. She was exhausted already, and with all the new information she'd just gleaned from a thirty second conversation with Gerard—one which we conducted telepathically?—she was beyond the point of being able to process anything anymore.

Albert pocketed the vial and dropped the syringe into a small bright yellow sharps disposal bin within the same bag by the door. "Were you communicating with him?"

Audrey squeezed her eyes shut. "You didn't hear _any_ of that?"

Truman pressed his hand, urging her to sit down again.

Albert huffed, dropping the leather bag to the floor again. "Harry, we should have had another solid hour with Gerard." He looked at Audrey. "MIKE must really want to get to her."

Truman chastised the insensitivity of his colleague as Audrey closed her eyes. She pressed two fingertips to the hour old bandage taped to her forehead and closed her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath.

"Where is Agent Cooper now?" she asked.

"Being held in a secure location," Truman said.

Audrey's palms began to sweat. She fixed her eyes on the detail of the central photograph on the wall across the room, showing two men standing one on either side of an imposing redwood. Her still exterior hid the frantic inner processes that threatened to engulf her. She was panicked, her heart racing; she felt hot and lightheaded, and her hands began to tingle again like they had the night before at the hotel.

 _You need to relax._

She counted the ridges in the bark of the large conifer. She imagined the colours that would have been present in the original scene, not the black and white one she looked at, naming all the shades she knew must have been there, labelling them first within the colour spectrum and then again by making up new names—mist green, brown-green, mossy beige. She tried to remind herself what the forest smelled like, the spicy scent of pine and fir and fresh earth. But that only reminded her of being in the woods, and suddenly her stomach was in her throat and she felt like she might throw up.

 _He chose you…_

Instead, she shut her eyes and fought—hard—against the panic attack that threatened to drown her. "I need to see him," she said, shaking voice laced with as much conviction as she could muster.

Beside her, Truman balked at the suggestion. "Audrey—"

"You said it yourself: he's being treated with drugs. They make him normal, don't they? He's himself?"

"It's not that simple," he said. "If what just happened to Gerard happens to Cooper—"

"I know what happens when BOB appears," she said, standing up straight and tugging on the hem of her shirt, straightening it across her chest. "You can stand watch if you have to. But I need to talk to him." She was amazing herself with the poise and confidence in her own voice. Emboldened, she took it a little further. "In fact, it's a prerequisite for my involvement now. If we are going to save him, I need to make sure there's still a _him_ to save."

Only dimly aware of the looks the three law enforcement officers gave one another, Audrey stood firm in her demands. It was only after several seconds passed that she cowed, feeling hot tears rising against her lashes. "Please," she said. "I need to do this. For me."

It was Albert who made the first move, gesturing towards the door. Truman, clearly disliking the cards he was being dealt, relaxed his shoulders and moved to step around Audrey. He took her by the elbow, gently pulling her to his side as he made his way around the head of the table.

"Come on then," he said softly.

"Diane…no…you're not listening to this. No one is listening to this. I don't have my voice-activated microcassette recorder on me. I am talking to an empty room. Perhaps this is a new low for me. But I cannot let the fear take over. I must remain steadfast in the face of whatever this is I'm staring down. So, much as I am doing and have done in this place in which I find myself trapped, I am going to narrate to you. To no one. I'm just going to talk.

"I have committed such evil—no, much evil has been committed in my name, within my body, by the entity known as BOB. He had me murder Judy Hendrickson, a nurse at Calhoun Memorial. She had taken the Owl Cave ring from Annie's finger, granting Annie a reprieve, I suppose, but sealing her own fate in the process. This is something I will have to live with for the rest of my life.

"I understand now that the ring is a curse, a powerful talisman. It is how BOB is able to find his victims. Whoever wears the ring is marked for death. And last night, I discovered that it was in Audrey Horne's possession. And I nearly killed her because of it.

"I say 'was' in her possession because I do not know where it is any longer, and neither does BOB. I don't know how I know this, but I do. The ring is lost to him, and he is desperate to find it before MIKE does. MIKE has different motives here. I do not know him to speak of him, but I believe his intentions to be good, or at least not as evil as BOB's. I pray that MIKE has found the ring. I pray that he has kept the ring. I pray that he destroys the ring.

"Someone is coming now. I can hear footsteps in the hallway outside this room. And I suspect that whoever it is will try to get me to eat. I haven't eaten anything since my confinement here began. However, not fifteen minutes ago I emptied my stomach of its meager contents. I don't believe I could eat even if I wanted to. And I don't want to, Diane.

"All I want is to be left alone here. To be left alone forever."


	20. Brave

As she descended the stairs to the Sheriff's Department basement, Audrey felt a heaviness settle around her. The close air, the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the echo of her saddle shoes within the concrete walls and floor and ceiling all painted the same disorienting shade of grey: it combined to made her feel claustrophobic and very small, aware of her own mortal limitations against the dark foe that awaited her at the end of the hall.

Sheriff Truman led the way. Albert marched a few paces behind her. Sandwiched between them, suffocated from above and below and on both sides by the oppressive subterranean tunnel, Audrey clenched her teeth and her fingers, digging her nails into her palms. She took a deep breath as Truman slowed his movements, nearing the door. As if approaching a frightened fawn, he reached for his keys and unlocked the heavy door, trying not to make a sound as he twisted the handle. Its hinge groaned in protest as he swung the door open.

"We're staying right here," Truman said as he moved out of the way for Audrey to step inside. "We're not going anywhere."

Truthfully, she was glad for the backup, and she nodded in agreement.

 _You need this_ , she told herself as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _You need to see him. You need to talk to him and see for yourself what this looks like. You need to know what's left to save._

 _Right?_

She opened her hands and shook them again, looking down at her palms to see scores of red half-moon shapes where her nails had bit the flesh. With the thumb of her left hand, she rubbed the marks on her right, then blew out the breath she was holding before stepping into the cell.

Cooper was laying on his side against the wall in the corner to her left, a small pillow wedged beneath his neck, facing the wall. He was covered with a thin blanket; the chill dampness of the room was inescapable, and Audrey was certain the blanket was barely enough to ward it off.

She gasped, and Cooper moved at the sound. He turned over, slowly, until he was facing her; when he opened his eyes and saw who it was who had entered his holding cell, his face registered his abject horror.

"Audrey, no," he said, sitting bolt upright and pushing himself against the wall in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between them. "Go away."

His ankles were shackled together in leg irons which looked heavy and showed signs of rust and age. As the blanket slipped from his upper body, she noticed that his hands, too, were cuffed behind his back. His hair and suit were both disheveled beyond the point of safe return; a yellowish stain on his lapel appeared to be a smear of dried vomit. He looked haggard, old, and defeated.

Audrey's heart shattered.

She turned to the door, where Sheriff Truman and Agent Rosenfield stood silent.

"Why is he handcuffed?"

"He insisted," Truman answered.

Audrey held her hand out. "I want the keys."

"Are you crazy?" Cooper croaked from across the room.

Audrey didn't answer the question; she kept her eyes focused on the sheriff's until he unclipped the keyring on his belt loop and released a pair of heavy brass keys from it. He held them out to her, and she accepted them.

"He's got another two hours, tops, before we need to give him another dose," Truman said.

"Unless that _thing_ wants out as badly as MIKE did," Albert reminded them.

Audrey was stalwart. "I won't need that long."

"He won't eat or drink," Truman said, motioning to the coffee cup and donut set on the floor next to Cooper.

"Okay."

Truman regarded his friend with the hangdog expression of a man who simply hadn't known what to do and was in far over his head. "I should get him some clean clothes."

Audrey nodded. "And maybe a bucket of warm water?" she asked, rolling up her sleeves and turning to look at Cooper's shaken form crouched small in the corner. "And another blanket. Or turn up the heat in here. It's freezing."

Truman glanced at Cooper. "Right," he said. He and Albert exchanged looks, and as Truman excused himself to gather the necessary provisions, Albert took his place on the wall inside the door. He caught Audrey's eyes as he did and small smile flitted to his lips, leaving as soon as it arrived; Audrey couldn't help but smile back. She still had no idea what to make of this gruff FBI agent, who stood in such stark contrast to the open friendliness of Agent Cooper. But in that moment, as their eyes locked, she felt curiously… _safe._ Like everything was going to be okay. The sun would rise tomorrow, the ocean tide would rise and fall as it always did, and Albert Rosenfield and Sheriff Truman would have her back no matter what happened. It was one of the few comforts she'd had in the last day; she was going to cherish it.

Audrey felt the keys between her fingers. They slid past each other, emitting a soft metallic _chink_ as they rubbed; she began the longest walk of her life, from one side of the room to the other, matching her footsteps to the sound of the keys scraping past one another. It felt meditative, calming; it gave her something to focus on that wasn't the painfully frightened look in Cooper's eyes, or the way his body shrank back from her as she approached.

"Audrey, stop. You don't know what you're doing."

"Agent Cooper," she whispered, her voice cracking over the syllables as she finally gained his side. She hesitated for a long moment before kneeling down, positioning herself within his field of vision and close enough to reach the cuffs. She rested her hand against his calf, just above his ankle, and felt him pull away from her touch.

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. "Stop," he urged.

Audrey shook her head, her voice low and even. "You know perfectly well that I can't do that."

For a moment she didn't move, watching him for a reaction. Then she took the paper coffee cup and pried open the travel lid, releasing a chimney of scented steam into the empty space between them. She scooted herself a hair closer, close enough to help him drink it.

"It's black, just the way you like it," she said, peering into the cup before offering it to him. He didn't move. She pushed. "You need to drink something. When did you last eat?"

She waved the cup beneath his nose, which gave an involuntary twitch at the scent. With great caution, she pressed her advantage, inching the cup forward until it touched his lips. He sipped, a teaspoon at first but then a longer pull as he relaxed ever-so-slightly.

Audrey set the coffee down and wasted no time sliding the first, larger key into the lock on the leg irons; turning it, the lock tumbler clicked and the shackles fell open. She pulled them from his ankles one at a time and let them fall to the cement floor before dragging them away out of sight behind her. He didn't move or protest. The smaller key grasped within her fingers, she reached forward and touched his wrist, turned his hand and the handcuffs in order to expose the lock. The key fit and turned with ease and the cuffs sprang open, landing heavily against her palm. She pulled them away from his hands before tossing them aside, where they clattered against the leg shackles.

"You don't know what could happen, Audrey," he said to her, circling his right wrist with his left fingers.

Audrey's voice cracked again. "Yes I do." She brought a hand up to his face, resting her thumb against his cheekbone, her fingertips grazing the hair near the nape of his neck. He stiffened against her touch. "But I'm not afraid, Agent Cooper. I know it wasn't you who did it." She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Right? It wasn't you?"

He opened his eyes then, taking in the sight of her for the first time this closely since the night before. She watched as horror shadowed his features, and with every pass his eyes made over her body, his disgust with himself deepened. He trembled and closed his eyes again. "Audrey…no, it wasn't me…" his voice cracked as his face contorted and he began to cry.

"You're in there somewhere," she whispered. "Dale Cooper, I _know_ you're in there. And I'm gonna find you."

He relented, barely, and leaned against her palm, bringing his own hand up to cover it against his face, pressing her warmth into the coolness of his skin.

The door to the room clattered as the lock disengaged. Truman entered, carrying a low basin filled with clean water; this, he set on the table near the door.

"From his locker," Truman offered as he set the folded fabric bundle draped over his arm down next to it.

Audrey stood up, swiping at tears that had fallen down her cheeks as she walked to meet him. She handed back the keys and he took up his earlier stance inside the door, arms folded across his chest, ankles crossed down below, shoulder to shoulder with Agent Rosenfield. _Defenders of the Peace, Champions of the Downtrodden._ Audrey's confidence swelled as she neared them.

She grabbed the basin of water and the bundle of clothes, walking back to the corner where Cooper sat, careful not to spill or drop anything. Setting the basin down beside him, she rifled through the clothes, cataloguing what was there: a shirt, a pair of pants, socks, a woven blanket, a washcloth.

Cooper grasped the coffee cup in his hand, and Audrey noted with some relief that he had taken a bite out of the bear claw resting next to it.

"C'mere," she urged, placing a hand on his arm. He didn't protest as she lifted his rumpled suit jacket from his shoulders and down over his arms, or when she unbuttoned his stained dress shirt and slid it off next. He helped her unbutton his trousers, and he pulled off his own undershirt until he was sitting in only his boxers, shivering against the wall.

Audrey dipped the washcloth into the water and wrung it out, then pressed it to Cooper's forehead. He flinched but didn't draw back as she cleaned the dirt from his face and neck, wiping away a day and a half of sweat and grime and tears from his skin. She smoothed the terrycloth over his back and down the broad expanse of his chest, across his stomach, being extra careful around the gnarled and angry but mostly healed-over scar where the bullet had torn through his flesh weeks earlier. A silver sliver of a scar, from his long-ago stabbing, was incised somewhat diagonally up and towards his left shoulder, and the combined effect of the two scars side-by-side was to make them look like an italicized exclamation mark against his abdomen. Audrey had never really noticed it before. Now, she let her fingers graze his skin—more out of want to touch than out of curiosity—tracing each shape and committing them to memory.

She took her time running the cloth over each arm, tending to the sore muscles that fidgeted and twitched beneath her touch, from cold and lack of movement. With his hands she took special care, cleaning each finger from the base of the knuckle to the tip of the fingernail, cleaning out the dirt from the woods and the blood— _her_ blood, she realized, though she tried not to think of it as that—from the night before. She didn't scrub. With every pass of the cloth she took more away, until his skin was left dampened and pink but clean, mostly, of the traces of the last day.

Each warm stroke of her hand seemed to soften him until by the end, he was like putty; she had him lean forward over the basin so she could clean his hair and he didn't protest despite the awkward angle. She soaked the cloth and squeezed the water out over him, running her free hand through the strands to ensure every part of his scalp received the same treatment; slowly, the water grew dim and cloudy, cooling to tepid at best. But by that point his body was cleaner, his hair a little less unkempt. She fingercombed his hair, keeping the longer pieces out of his eyes and attempting as best she could to replicate his normal style. By the end, he looked much better, more like himself—perhaps, she wondered, this is what he would look like after a shower, before putting on the FBI persona along with the suit and the tie and Brylcreem. She had never seen that Dale Cooper, and she suddenly, desperately, wanted to.

 _Him, stepping from the bathroom in front of a cloud of steam, towel around the waist…her, offering him a cup of coffee and a kiss on the cheek…_

Audrey shook her head and scolded herself for indulging in such infantile delusions of domesticity. Would those things ever happen for them? How could they, now that all this had transpired between them?

She forced the thoughts from her head. "There," she said. "A bit better."

"I killed her, Audrey. That nurse," he said in a choked whisper. "I nearly killed you."

"Ssh," she said. She unfolded the flannel shirt and wrapped it around his shoulders. He lifted one arm into the sleeve, and then another, while Audrey buttoned it up from the base of his throat down to his waist. Next, a pair of khaki trousers, which she eased over his feet and pulled up around his middle with his help; he lifted them over his hips, while she fastened the button and zipped the fly. When he was dressed again, she pulled the new blanket over his lap and up around his shoulders, slipping it behind his back, between his shoulders and the wall.

"I don't even know if I'm me," he admitted through his chattering teeth. "Where does _he_ end and where do I begin?"

Audrey sagged. She pivoted slightly, tucking her legs beneath her as she sat down beside him on the wall. Without a word, he lifted the edge of the blanket closest to her and draped it over her lap, fussing with it until it covered as much of her legs as it could.

 _There you are_ , she thought, feeling any lingering sense of trepidation disappear as the tender action unfolded before her eyes. _There you are, my Special Agent. Right there…_

She leaned against his shoulder. "Do you remember after you brought me back from One Eyed Jack's, when we went for hamburgers?" she asked.

Cooper nodded slowly. "You fell asleep during my story."

She smiled. "I did, didn't I?" She looked down at her hands. "Do you remember—"

"You told me that you'd never been to Europe, that you always wanted to learn how to play guitar," he said. "And all I've really wanted to do since then is build you a music room and take you to Paris…"

Audrey choked on a silent sob. She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder through the blanket.

"I want to come back," he whispered. "I want to come home."

"We're trying, we really are," she sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "All of us…"

He turned to look at her and she sat up so their eyes could meet. She read the shame and fear in his eyes; when he brought his free hand up to brush hair from her face, his fingers lingered on the bandage. "I tried to stop him, Audrey. I would never—"

"I know," she said, closing her eyes as her tears fell from between her lashes.

"It's the ring," he said. "I don't know why, but that ring—"

Audrey gasped. She'd almost forgotten about it. Flattening the palm of her hand against her pocket, she felt the golden ornament press into her leg.

"What about the ring?"

Cooper took a long time delivering his words. He looked suddenly fearful. "You didn't put it on, did you?"

She shook her head. "No, I didn't. I never…not once."

"Where is it now?" he asked, before shaking his head. "No, don't tell me. He can't know." His body shivered now, but for a different reason altogether than the cold in the room; his forehead beaded with sweat. "It's how he focuses his energy, how he channels through his host," he said. "It's how you'll be able to lure him out and trap him in the Lodge. Of that I have no doubt."

"H-how?" she asked. "Why?"

"Because he's inside my head, Audrey," Cooper replied. "He knows me inside and out. And he's going to take everything I love from me, simply because I love it," he said. "He took my mother. He took Caroline. And now he wants to take you…"

Audrey's breath caught in her throat. But before she could speak, Cooper took her hands in his beneath the blanket.

"Audrey, listen to me. You need to find the ring. You need to find it, and you need to hide it. Don't tell me who has it. Don't show it to me. Don't even tell me if you find it. BOB can't know."

She nodded. "Okay. What do we do with it?"

"I think it needs to be destroyed," he said before nodding. "It needs to be taken into the Lodge and destroyed."

As the words left his mouth, he began to cough, his shoulders heaving violently beneath the blanket. His voice began to change. Audrey recognized it right away; her heart began to pound and she dropped his hand from between hers.

BOB was reasserting himself.

"Harry," Cooper choked. "It's happening…he's coming…"

But Truman and Albert had already leapt into action. Albert hauled Audrey backwards and away from Cooper as Truman grabbed the shackles and reattached them, first around Cooper's ankles and then to his wrists, manacled behind his back. Audrey watched him devolve, twisting and cursing as he fought back against the possession that was overtaking him.

"You're in over your head little girl," Cooper menaced as he locked eyes with her.

"Yeah, well…we'll see about that," she said, forcing herself to stay calm.

Before she knew what was happening, he looked up at her, hard eyes turning soft and sad. Her Special Agent shone through. "Go!" he whispered.

She stood up and nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. Truman and Albert removed everything they had brought into the room—the water bucket, his dirty clothing, what remained of the coffee and donut—and as Truman ushered Audrey out into the hallway, Albert took the vial and a fresh syringe from his coat pocket. With Audrey out of harm's way, the two officers slammed and locked the door behind him, leaving her alone in the hallway.

She collapsed with a heavy sigh against the cinder block wall behind her. Her shoulders heaved as she breathed through her pain and heartache and the fear that forced more adrenaline through her veins than blood. She wept openly into her hands; the sound of Cooper's cries erupted from the room, and the unseen outburst frightened Audrey more than she cared to admit.

But the sounds died down, and within a moment, the door opened again and Truman and Albert reemerged, shaken and perplexed.

"That one only lasted forty-five minutes," Albert said, absently and to no one in particular. "I doubled the dose just now but—"

"Is he gonna be okay?" she cried.

Truman placed a hand on Audrey's shoulder. "Are _you_ okay?"

Albert came and stood facing Audrey. "What's this about the ring?" he asked. "Do you know where it is?"

Audrey pocketed her left hand for a long moment. "I know _exactly_ where it is," she whispered as she pulled her fist out and opened it to reveal the golden ring, pressed against her palm.

"Jesus," Harry said. "Where did you get it?"

Audrey looked down at the ring and then back up at the two of them. "After Agent Cooper dropped it at the cabin, I…I guess I dreamed it. He gave it to me in my dream."

"Who did?" Truman asked. "Cooper did?"

Audrey closed her fist around the ring, feeling her face flush. "No…it was MIKE, I think…" She wavered on her feet, feeling lightheaded.

Truman and Albert each reached out to steady her. "Maybe you ought to go home and get some rest," Truman said softly.

"I can't," she replied. "I have to help him." She paused, hitting on an idea that had been festering for a while. "Maybe I'm the one who could go into the Lodge for him?"

"Whoa, now," Albert said. "There's no way on God's green earth that you're going to the Black Lodge."

Audrey was undaunted. "You were there. You heard Mr. Gerard."

"No, actually, I didn't," Albert huffed. "And neither did anyone else in that room aside from you."

Audrey sighed. "He said I was the only one who could save him. The _only_ one, Agent Rosenfield." She pointed to the closed and locked interrogation room door. "Who else is gonna go?"

"Me," Albert said, holding up his hand as he began rattling off names. "Harry. Hawk. Deputy Do-Right. Hell, I'd rather send the guy who runs the gas station—"

"Ed Hurley," Truman drawled.

"Yeah, him, Ed Hurley," Albert replied. "I'd rather send _him_ than _you_."

Audrey fumed. She knew that they would say that; she knew exactly what they were thinking. _She's just a girl…she's too young…she has no skills beyond the reach of her trust fund…_

But it didn't matter what they thought anymore. She'd started her day as the unfortunate victim in a story she didn't understand, and now she felt like she'd taken over the starring role. By virtue of the cryptic words of a one-armed man and her confidence that Cooper had spoken to her in her dreams for a reason, Audrey was convinced that she was the answer. Emboldened by her own increasing significance, Audrey regained her full height and composed herself. With a quiet sniffle, she rubbed the cuff of her sleeve across the tip of her nose. "In my dream last night, I heard _someone_ , some _voice_ , say that fear and love open the doors," she told them. "It—the voice—asked me if I loved him. Now, what am I supposed to think about that, huh? Dale tells me he loves me. I know I love him. And love opens the door? What is that all supposed to mean?"

Truman nodded in recognition. "Major Briggs said the same thing last weekend, when he came back from the woods," he said. " _'Fear and love open the doors.'_ "

"Well whoopdee-doo," Albert said. "People say a lot of weird things."

"But the same words?" Truman asked.

Audrey grew thoughtful and pensive. She closed her eyes and searched for the right words. "I think it's like the keys to the door, or to those handcuffs," she said. "The key needs to fit the lock, right? It can't just be any key. It has to be the _right one_ , the _only one_." She shrugged. "He's the lock. I'm the key. I really do think I'm the _only_ one who can do this."

Albert considered her for a long moment, narrowing his eyes and looking her up and down before speaking. "Audrey Horne, you're either incredibly stupid, incredibly lucky, or incredibly brave to do everything that you've done," he said. "I don't really care which one it is. But I think—"

Before he could finish speaking, Audrey swayed again, thrusting her hand out to grip the recessed mortar joint on the wall beside her. Both Albert and Truman once again reached out to steady her.

"Come on," Truman said. "Let's get you home."

"I'm fine," she objected.

"No," Truman was firm. "You've done more than enough today. You need to rest."

Audrey's attempted protestation was weak. She did want to have a bath. She wanted to sleep. She wanted—now, all of a sudden—to see her father and hug her mother.

More than anything, she wanted her Special Agent back with her. And that gave her resolve focus. She'd do it for him. She'd take care of herself so she could take care of him.

Her eyes filled with tears as she allowed herself to be walked away down the hall, away from Agent Cooper, whose body lay in a basement interrogation room in the Sheriff's Station on Cedar Street, but whose soul remained trapped a million miles away from her…


	21. Reinforcements

**3:34pm**

Under a cloudless sky, with the April heat baking unusual warmth into the pavement underfoot, Sheriff Truman felt more unsettled than ever. Clear skies over his town had that effect on him these days. Sunlight brightened dark corners but didn't disinfect them; it showed the cracks and offered no balm to soothe. But above all else, the heavenly blue above mocked them all. He wished for rain, for clouds, for fog and wind through the pines. At least then the environment would match the timbre he felt as he walked the streets.

For the last hour, the only thing running through his mind were Audrey's words. Her offer to help that morning over coffee on the back porch of the Hayward home had come from such a place of purity and had been a relief to him, but when she echoed those sentiments in the department basement it had blindsided him. What had he expected? That he could solicit assistance and then revoke access just like that? From Audrey Horne?

It wasn't that he didn't believe she was capable; that was Albert's stance. Rather, he believed that she might be right, and it terrified him.

 _Can I allow Audrey to do this? To risk her life on something that could wind up with her possessed like Cooper, or catatonic and sent to a psych ward in another state like Annie?_

 _Do I even have a choice?_

Statements from Cooper and Gerard had been taken and compiled on legal pads, one in Hawk's impeccable penmanship, one in Albert's chicken scratch, and Truman held them in his hands, along with a piece of paper on which he'd written every scrap of information known to them as fact since the events of the night before had unfolded in such dramatic fashion.

Now it was time for reinforcements. Without telling them over the phone why he needed them there— _Are you not trusting the telephone company now too, Harry?_ he'd chastised himself before realizing it was probably just prudent not to frighten potential allies with news he could deliver face-to-face, and then he chastised himself for his newfound neuroticism instead—Sheriff Truman had placed four calls in the intervening hours between Audrey's departure and the late afternoon window of time in which he found himself now. Here, in the clearing behind the Sheriff's Department, flanked by Albert and Hawk, the cavalry arrived.

Major Briggs got there first, ambling up the side path with his hat tucked under his arm, admiring the spring air and without a care in the world. He greeted the sheriff and found a tree big enough to support his weight—not a difficult task, considering the forest in which they lived—and leaned against it, eyes cast in wonder at the sky above.

Margaret Lanterman's heavy clogs could be heard on the sidewalk long before she rounded the corner into the clearing. She chewed an unwieldy wad of pitch gum, clutching her log to her chest as she always did. When she saw who had already assembled, she slowed her walk, a mix of suspicion, scorn, and sadness in her eyes. She nodded her hellos and sat at the picnic table.

Doc Hayward clutched his medical bag in one hand, his other arm linked with Sarah Palmer's at his side as he helped her step over the crooked paving stones and onto the uneven grassy field. Will set the bag down on the picnic table and helped Sarah to sit. She seemed unsteady and unwell, paler than usual, and had clearly been crying. Margaret regarded her curiously, but the two women eventually reached across the table to hold hands in greeting. They were the last to arrive.

It was up to them in that moment; this was his team. Hawk with his intellect and wisdom, Albert with his tenacity; Briggs with his knowledge of the White Lodge, and Margaret with her knowledge of the Black. Doctor Hayward had his medical expertise, and Sarah had her visions. And now, with the old chalkboard wheeled out into the fresh air as it had been all those weeks ago, when Tibet and dreams had been the topic of inquiry, he had to be ready to dive in.

Truman stood up, and everyone fell silent.

"Thank you for coming," he said, sounding scratchy and weak. He coughed and tried again. "As you may be aware by now, we're here because something has happened to Agent Cooper."

The expressions they held didn't fade but they were not surprised. It could have been that they didn't understand him; it could have been that they already knew. Truman couldn't tell. He didn't want to know. He just needed their answers.

"He's trapped, isn't he?" Margaret asked.

"I'm afraid so," Truman nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face as he lifted a piece of chalk from the ledge and began transcribing his words from the page onto the blackboard:

 **Agent Cooper is possessed by BOB**

 **Philip Gerard is possessed by MIKE**

 **Gerard/MIKE are desperate to stop BOB**

 **Audrey Horne has a ring from the Black Lodge.**

 **Audrey and Cooper have been communicating in dreams**

 **Cooper is trapped in the Black Lodge**

 **Audrey is the "chosen one"**

" **Fear and love open the doors"**

Then he wrote down five questions, answering the ones he could and leaving the rest tantalizingly blank:

 **Who? Agent Cooper-possessed by BOB**

 **What? Need to get him out**

 **Where? The Black Lodge/Glastonbury Grove**

 **When?**

 **How?**

"This is what we know," he said, pointing to each bulleted entry on the list; the sharp _crack_ of the chalk on the board echoed into the trees with each strike he made. He stopped at When and How, underlining each word. "These are what we need to figure out."

Every last one of them stared at the board, studying it in silence.

Sarah spoke first, raising her voice only barely; it was as soft as a whisper against the relative loudness of nature and that damned sunshine, and Truman struggled to hear her. "A-Agent Cooper is possessed?"

"Yes," Truman replied. "Yesterday, when we visited, I think you could sense that, couldn't you?"

Her expression was tortured. "I didn't know that's what it meant," she said. "I'm sorry, Sheriff Truman. I could have told you."

He shook his head. "Sarah, it's okay. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. And we're here now, together, to try and fix this. Let's focus on that, okay?" he said.

"Why Audrey?" Major Briggs asked.

Truman turned to face the major; his brows knit together as he searched for the words that could explain the situation delicately and diplomatically. "Agent Cooper and Audrey have a…special bond. They—"

"They were lovers," Margaret announced, with all the tact and elegance of a stampede.

Truman nodded. "In secret."

"I thought everyone knew," Hawk said, and Truman grinned. _Of course Hawk would be the one to figure that out…_

"My log told me that they love each other very deeply," Margaret replied, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "My log can sense these things."

"He hurt her," Sarah said, pressing two fingers to her forehead, right around the spot where Audrey had been injured. The hair on the back of Truman's neck stood on end. Sarah looked him in the eye. "He hurt her but she is the only one to help him…oh, the poor girl…"

"How do you know she's the only one?" Truman asked.

Sarah's pained expression softened. "I don't know," she admitted. "I just…have a feeling."

Albert scoffed. "This is officially Cloud Cuckoo Land," he whispered with a slow shake of his head. Truman was fairly certain no one heard him, and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for that.

"We need to figure out how to get in," Hawk said. "The last time we could enter the Lodge it was because of the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter. Is there any such event happening in the next few days?"

"That, I don't know," Truman said, turning his attention to the board again. "I was going to have the reference librarian look into it, but—"

Major Briggs cleared his throat. "I may be able to shed some light on this particular area," he said.

Truman yielded the floor. "Go ahead, Major."

The major fixed his stance, rooting himself to the earth before delivering his pronouncement. "A planetary conjunction is the kind of celestial event that is thought to affect tidal forces around the planet," Briggs said. "The oceans rise and fall. Our molten core may go into flux, causing shifts in the mantle and crust that allow forces deep within the earth to expand and come forth. Opening gateways, if you will."

"I can't believe I'm asking this but: are there any planetary conjunctions occurring in the next week?" Albert asked.

Major Briggs nodded. "In a sense, yes there is," he said. "This very night, the moon will pass completely into shadow as the sun, our planet, and our lunar satellite come into perfect alignment with one another." He splayed his fingers and fit them together in front of him. "Into a kind of conjunction."

"The new moon," Margaret said, her voice reverent, turning to address her log. "We know about the new moon."

Truman stood up a little straighter. He didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

Margaret grew silent and morose; Hawk took up the mantle. "It is traditionally a time of dark magic and demonic possessions."

"Well we've got a few of those," Albert said.

Hawk continued. "Fate and fortunes are said to be set depending on the way one views the new moon—whether with your clear eye or through a window, for instance, can change the outcome. It can be a time of powerful new beginnings. Or it can be a harbinger of terrible hardship. It all depends on the variables."

Albert turned around towards the sheriff. "Harry, you can't possibly be considering this for _tonight_?"

"Our next shot won't be until the full moon, two weeks from now," Briggs said. "That's the next _reliable_ planetary conjunction, anyway. There are more powerful ones, between other planets in our solar system, but they are less frequent. We may end up waiting a long time if we don't seize this opportunity."

"Cooper won't last that long," Truman said. "The haloperidol is wearing fast. Pretty soon, who knows? Maybe it won't even work at all."

Albert jumped in. "There is a gigantic section of the pharmaceutical industry devoted to anti-psychotics, and whole classes of drugs we could try," he said. "Phenothiazines, butyrophenones, tricylic dibenzodiazepines, and those are just the ones that are already patented. There's a slew more in development, and I can have them synthesized in a lab, tailored to his physiology—"

"You cannot keep the Lodge spirits at bay with earthly medicine and expect it to not take a tremendous toll," Margaret said. The weariness in her voice told Truman that she knew what she was talking about; he didn't want to know how.

"Whaddya mean?" Albert asked.

She continued. "The man with one arm will not survive if the spirit he is hosting decides to vacate his body. They have spent too many years together, the demon suppressed. I feel his weakness. There is little left of the man after so long under this spell."

Truman felt his panic rising; Cooper had been suppressing BOB for less than a day, but the power with which BOB was asserting himself could mean anything. Perhaps they didn't have as much time as they thought. "No," he said. "I think all this activity, leading up to the new moon…I think it means something," he said, looking down at his feet. "And I think Audrey has something to do with it, I really do."

"I just told you she does. So did Sarah Palmer," Margaret said, annoyance clipping the edge of her words. "Audrey is the only one."

"No," Albert held up his hands. "Audrey Horne in eighteen years old. She's been targeted and attacked by a demonic… _something._ If we send her in there, on his turf, what's stopping BOB from overtaking her?" he huffed. "The only place we oughta be sending her is study hall."

"I hear you, Albert," Truman said. "But really—have you got any better ideas?"

The FBI Agent folded his arms across his chest. "One of us goes in instead. With our training, our skillset, we're far better suited to handle whatever comes up than she is."

"Because that helped Agent Cooper so much?" Hawk asked.

"So that's a reason to send an innocent girl into the Twilight Zone? Hm?" Albert grumbled. "Our best-prepared law enforcement agent couldn't do it, so let's send in the cheer team next?"

"Don't do that," Truman scolded with a slow shake of his head. "Audrey's proven she has more mettle in her than any of us thought possible." He added: "Besides, it wasn't that long ago you were prepared to send her in to talk to MIKE, ready to exploit whatever connection she had to this for our own benefit."

"Yeah, with _us_ in the room," Albert said. "Who else is gonna be in the Lodge with her?"

"Agent Cooper will be," Hawk said.

Albert scoffed. "Right. Yeah, the guy who tied her up and left her to die on the side of a mountain. _That_ makes me feel _so_ much better."

"His _body_ , inhabited by an evil Lodge dweller, was the one who did that," Hawk said. "His _soul_ —his true soul—is trying to protect her. It has been all along."

Truman nodded. "The good part of him, the part trapped in the Lodge, is sending her messages in her dreams," he said. "He's doing what he can to shield her from danger across the divide. Can't we assume that he'll do everything he can to help once she's in there with him?"

"I don't think we can assume anything at this point," Albert said. "Look, as the only representative here from the Federal Bureau of Investigations—which, might I remind you, is the government institution ultimately responsible for his well-being—I need to be quite clear that there is no path forward from this juncture without my approval, which you should take as approval from my supervisor Gordon Cole, and from _his_ supervisor, and his, on up the chain of command, right to the very top."

Truman recognized Albert's attempt to pull rank for what it was: the desperate act of a man who'd lost control of the situation he was in and would stop at nothing to reel it back. But the waver in his voice was something new. Albert knew there was no other plan. He may have been skeptical of what was happening, but all that he had seen since arriving in town, and especially over the last twenty-four hours, had begun to chip away at his no-nonsense resolve. He knew this was the only way.

Major Briggs cleared his throat. "If I may interject, as the only _other_ federal employee currently in this discussion."

"By all means," Albert said, less than sincerely.

Major Briggs continued undaunted. "I am told that, on the night of the pageant, I muttered the same words Audrey heard in her dream: _Fear and love open the doors_. Now, I don't believe the universe is so lazy as to allow for this to be a simple coincidence. We are supposed to pay attention to this."

Truman snapped his fingers. "That's the word— _coincidence_. Cooper used to talk about coincidence all the time. How it was like…like…"

"'Coincidence is when fate takes over the wheel and points you in the direction you're supposed to go,'" Hawk nodded. "I'm paraphrasing, but that's the gist of it."

Major Briggs took the chalk from Sheriff Truman's hand and circled the phrase Truman had written on the board. "Fear and love open the doors? What better time than to open them under the restorative and cleansing power of a new moon?"

"I can't believe we're seriously discussing this," Albert said. "If this is a time of change and flux, couldn't the pendulum swing the other way? Towards darkness and danger?"

Briggs shook his head. "I do not believe that will be the case. Windom Earle used the fear he planted in Annie's heart to open the door to the Black Lodge. I believe Agent Cooper's own fear—for her safety, for his past and the very real danger in front of him—that fear opened the door for him and it may be what is keeping him there. Fear is not necessarily weakness, but it alone can never lead you on a path to righteousness or safety," he said.

Margaret leaned forward over her log. "Audrey's love for Agent Cooper is wholesome."

Truman shrugged. "How can you know?"

She ran her hand over her log, not at all unlike the way a mother might stroke her child's face. "My log has seen it," she said. "It is pure and virtuous, crystal clear. It is new love, first love, untainted by darkness. If it lights her path, it is the perfect safeguard for the evil that lurks in that shadow place beyond the sycamores."

Albert seemed unimpressed. "'No offense, Log Lady, but this Ouija board wisdom of yours isn't giving me a lot of confidence."

"I cannot offer what I do not have," she replied.

Major Briggs nodded. "I agree with Mrs. Lanterman," he said. "I think the best path forward is to allow Audrey Horne the opportunity to cross the threshold. Armed with the virtue in her soul, the love in her heart, backed by the premonition of one of the Dwellers themselves…"

"And it _has_ to be tonight?" Doc Hayward asked. His sudden intrusion into the conversation was startling; he'd been standing quietly and pensive, not moving, not daring to utter a sound, since the start of their conversation.

Major Briggs nodded. "The moon crosses completely between us and the sun at exactly oh-two-fourteen hours tomorrow morning," he said. "That is when I would prepare to be up there."

Sarah cleared her throat. "The _thing_ I saw yesterday—he is near to us even now? In Agent Cooper?"

Harry nodded. "He's dormant. Hidden behind the haloperidol. He can't hurt anyone."

"Except Agent Cooper," she said. "He's fading. That's why the drugs aren't working, Sheriff Truman. Agent Cooper is giving up."

Fear gripped Truman's heart. He looked around the assembled team, and saw each pair of eyes mirroring his own emotion. Even Albert, for all his bravado, looked genuinely scared at the prospect of stalwart Special Agent Dale Cooper giving in and becoming lost to them in one fell swoop.

 _None of us can go._

It had to be Audrey. He had never once seen that fear cross her eyes. They had burned with courage and compassion that afternoon as she tended so gently to Agent Cooper; they hadn't clouded with distress; sadness, yes, and anger and frustration, but never her own fear.

 _This is why she's the one_

As if reading his mind, the good doctor stood up straight and tried to collect himself, looking at the board and then back at Truman. "Have you asked Audrey what her plan is? If she's willing to do this?"

Albert cleared his throat. "It was her idea to go in there in the first place," he said.

Doc Hayward allowed himself a small, sad chuckle. "She is stubborn, that one," he said. "Ever since the day she was born. It took us forty-four hours to get her out. Forty-four! Can you imagine?" he asked, his faint laughter trailing off as his shoulders slumped. He was quiet, staring at the ground for a long while before looking back up. "I don't want to bury another child that I brought into this world, Harry. I'm sure you can understand that. But it's not my choice, and neither is it yours. We shouldn't be deciding this here. Not now. Not without her present. It's not fair to her."

Major Briggs nodded in agreement. "We should present the best set of facts we can and let her decide what to do."

"Agreed," Truman offered, while Hawk nodded his assent.

"She will go," Margaret said. "I have no doubt."

Sarah nodded as well. "The poor dear," she whispered.

Albert was less enthused, but still softened his approach with a quiet: "Agreed."

Truman felt the most cautious optimism he'd felt in weeks. He turned to Doc Hayward again. "I suppose Audrey is resting now?"

"She is," Hayward said. "How much time do we have?"

Truman sensed where the doctor was going. "Let her rest. We won't wake her," he said before repeating: "Let her rest."

No one argued against the sound judgment.

Doc Hayward lifted his medical bag from the ground in front of him where he'd put it. "If you don't mind, I'd like to examine both Mr. Gerard and Agent Cooper now before I go."

Truman briefly considered being the one to escort the doctor down to the cells where each man was being quarantined. He lifted his head and opened his mouth to speak but across the lawn, Albert shook his head and silenced him; Hawk, watching the whole interaction, stepped up instead with his own offer of escort.

A weight lifted from Truman's shoulders. For all his gruff posturing, Albert was a remarkably observant individual. Whether he'd known that Truman was exhausted and afraid or whether he had simply guessed that it was true, the sheriff was suddenly and overwhelmingly glad that the FBI had set up camp in his corner Washington State if only for the fact that when he needed someone in his corner over the last six weeks, invariably it had been a J. Edgar he found there.

He'd have to send Gordon a pie, or twelve, in thanks when this was all over.

The crowd began to break up. Truman thanked them for coming and promised to brief them when more information became available, but asked them to stay close by in case they were needed.

Then he stood there, looking at the blackboard, hands on his belt. He didn't hear Albert approaching from behind, or feel him come to stand next to him; only when he spoke did the sheriff's attention turn from the scattered bits of information in front of him.

"I don't like this."

"You think I do?"

"No."

Truman sighed. "It's a damn mess we've got here."

"I suppose we'll have to let the haloperidol wear off first before we try anything," Albert said. "Of course I don't know how long that will be. A regular dose should last hours, and right now we're getting maybe an hour, hour and a half at most. We'll have to keep an eye on him. I don't want BOB taking over until we absolutely need him to."

Truman had to give Albert credit. For a man so dead set against the plan, once it was decided that this was the way forward he had fallen in line quickly.

"I don't know what we're gonna do when we get up there," Truman admitted. "If the curtains appear…" he sighed and looked at his chalkboard and then down at his watch. "We'll need backup for tonight then."

"Want me to call in a few favours?" Albert asked. "Gordon has given me _carte blanche_ to get Coop back. I could have two dozen of the best field agents in the country here in six hours."

Truman scratched his chin as he scanned the board again. "That's mighty generous of you, Albert, and if this were more straightforward, then I'd definitely take you up on it, but this—"

"Yeah," Albert said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I forgot, you've got your own little thing going on up here to deal with this stuff, right?"

Truman turned to the FBI Agent. "I don't follow."

Albert shot the sheriff a look. "Come on, Harry," he said, before drawing his finger down from the corner of his right eyebrow, much to the sheriff's surprise. "Doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

Truman grinned and sighed, arching his eyebrows. "Albert it's not like that, it's—I mean…the Bookhouse Boys were all we had before you and Coop showed up, and it'll be all we have once you fellas roll out of here again. It's—"

Albert raised his hands in defense. "Hey, far be it from me to deny the Mickey Mouse Club their chance to dance naked by the light of the full moon," he said, only half-seriously, before shrugging and folding his arms across his chest. "Or the new moon, whatever."

Truman regarded his friend in astonishment. "If I didn't know any better, Albert, I'd say you were a little put out right now."

Albert's perfectly sardonic reply was tempered by the slight smile at the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "Well I didn't exactly mail in all the boxtops either."

Truman's worries eased. "I've got extra decoder rings in the supply room," he said. "It wasn't my intention to be exclusionary, Albert. You're a vital part of this team."

Albert nodded as he looked down at his shoes. "This is your wheelhouse, Harry. I want to help. I want to get Coop back—not just because it's my job but because he's an honest-to-goodness decent guy and there are very few people I can say that about so I'm not gonna sit by to let some demon spirit from the seventh circle of hell take that away from the world," he said. "But I'm not here to get in your way. Honest. And what I said back there, about the FBI and needing my approval—"

Truman sighed. "We're all just a little out of our depth here. Grasping at straws, trying to make sense of all this…"

The two men grew silent. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped as still-cheery but large and imposing cumulus clouds began to drift across the face of the sun high in the sky above their heads. Blessedly, from Truman's perspective at least, a low roll of dark storm clouds had begun pushing in from the west. From the way they'd moved in and from where they were on the horizon, Truman figured they were an hour away still, thundering down over the Columbia River as they made their way over the Okanagan Highlands from the base of the Cascades. He glanced at his watch again. It felt like time was spread over him thick as honey and moving about as fast. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, either.

"You know that's not true, right?" Albert said, breaking his contemplation. "About what'll happen when this is all over?"

"What's that?"

"I mean…whatever this is, whatever lives in those woods…" Albert trailed off, briefly, as he cast his eyes to the treetops. "Whatever it is, you'll never have to face it alone again. You know that, right?"

Truman sighed and nodded, grateful for the support. _That's if we succeed tonight. If we can get Cooper back. If there's a way out for any of us anyway._

But he didn't say those things. Instead, he kept his eyes soft as he smiled. "We'll keep a standing reservation for you in the back booth at the Double R."

"Just build me a proper morgue, and we'll talk."

Truman laughed. "Will do, Agent Rosenfield. Will do."


	22. Committed

**9:01pm**

Audrey sat bolt upright in bed, a hand clasped against her chest, and began to sob.

"Donna?" she cried out, swinging her legs out of bed and tripping over her feet in the process. Stumbling forward, she caught herself against the dresser and hauled herself to her feet, tracing her way around the furniture in the dark until she found the door and launched herself into the hallway. "Donna!"

Doctor Hayward met her on the stairs as she descended, and she crashed into his open arms, crying uncontrollably. Donna was right behind him.

"Audrey, dear," Doc Hayward said as he helped her down the remaining stairs to the landing and more even ground. "What's the matter?"

"Did you have another dream?" Donna asked, taking over for her father as Audrey's primary pillar of support.

"Oh Donna!" Audrey wept as she clutched her friend's shoulders. "That's just it…I had no dreams! None at all!"

"But I thought—" Donna rubbed Audrey's back. "Audrey, weren't the dreams terrible for you? Aren't you glad they're gone?"

"You don't understand!" she wailed. "If I don't have dreams of him…it means _he's_ gone, doesn't it? Doesn't it mean that he's gone and I won't be able to reach him?"

The doctor put his hand on Audrey's shoulder. "Audrey, we should talk, okay?" he suggested.

At this, Audrey broke down again. "What happened? Why do we need to talk? Did something happen to Agent Cooper?"

"Dad," Donna scolded, as the elder Hayward sighed, chastising himself for his poor choice of words.

"Nothing happened, Audrey," he told her. "Everything is fine. But there have been some developments while you were sleeping, and—"

"How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"Only a few hours, Audrey," Donna said, soothing a hand up and down her back. "It's just past nine o'clock."

"Come on, dear," Doctor Hayward said. "Eileen made a pot roast. We kept a plate warm for you in the oven. You can eat and we can talk it all over, okay?"

Audrey nodded, sobs catching in her throat as she walked down the stairs in between Donna and her father. She settled on the sofa; Harriet and Gersten, obediently completing their homework at the dining room table, were dismissed for privacy while Donna got Audrey's food and Will began explaining the plan as it had been hatched that afternoon.

Audrey listened, absorbed everything, and ate very little of the food on the plate that Donna had set in her lap on top of a folded rectangle of dishtowels. She pushed the meatloaf around the dish, making paths through the gravy with each morsel stuck to the tines of her fork. She didn't ask any questions. And when Will was done and the silence stretched on long enough for her to know that he had nothing more to say, she looked up from the food.

"It has to happen tonight then?" she asked.

"Apparently, yes it does."

She nodded. "So we go up to the woods…to this place, Glastobury Grove?" she asked. "And we wait there for this door to open up?"

The doctor nodded his head.

Donna leaned forward then. "Audrey, did he _really_ give you a ring in your dream?"

Audrey reached her hand into the pocket of her skirt and produced the ring. "I know it sounds crazy, but that's what happened."

Donna reached out to touch it and Audrey instinctively jerked her hand back.

"No, Donna, you shouldn't touch it."

" _You're_ touching it."

"I know, but…I think if you touch it, and you're not supposed to…bad things can happen. BOB can find you."

Donna pulled her hands back to her lap. "What are you supposed to do with it?"

Audrey looked down at the ring and then back up at Doc Hayward. "Destroy it, I think. I don't know."

"All we know is that both Mr. Gerard and Agent Cooper have both said the same thing—that the ring has been corrupted somehow and needs to be destroyed," he replied. "And Gerard and Mrs. Lanterman and Mrs. Palmer all said you were the only one who is capable of doing it at all," he said, pausing before adding: " _If_ you decide to do it, that is."

Audrey was taken aback. "Well, _obviously_ I'm doing it."

Donna smiled a little and squeezed Audrey's hand. Doctor Hayward leaned back in his chair.

"I figured you would say that," he sighed, raising his hand to scratch absently at a spot on his cheek. "Well…I suppose we should let the Sheriff know that the plan is on, so he can round up what needs rounding up." He swiveled in his chair and reached for the phone.

"What should I do?" she asked. "I suppose I'll need warm clothes, up on the mountain. Maybe some mittens. The ring obviously." She chewed her lip. "Should I bring anything else? Does garlic protect only against vampires?"

Doc Hayward managed a small smile. "I'd suggest you eat something filling, dear. Maybe rest up a little bit more before it's time to go ahead."

He began dialing the number. Audrey's heart began to pound in her ears.

"Doctor Hayward?"

He paused, holding the phone next to his ear. "Hm?"

"I could die, right?"

It was as if the air was sucked from the room. Nobody breathed; nobody blinked. Even the ticking of the clock on the mantle seemed to stop. Then he replaced the phone receiver on the cradle and sighed.

"I don't know, Audrey," he replied. "I don't know where this place is that you're going to. I don't know what lurks there. I only know that it's dangerous."

Audrey nodded. For a long moment, she looked down at the plate of half-eaten food still in her lap; she squeezed the ring into her palm.

"Audrey?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I think I need to see my father."

 **Calhoun Memorial Hospital  
10:08 pm**

Visiting hours at Calhoun Memorial were long over when Audrey prepared to step over the threshold and into her father's private room in a private corner of what was almost a private wing, considering that no other patients occupied the rooms adjacent to his.

With Donna at her side, Audrey had free access to the entire hospital; no nurses paid attention as she passed, other doctors simply nodded their silent salutations. She was used to being overlooked, but tonight of all nights, she wanted to be seen. She wanted to be noticed. She wanted to be beheld and appreciated and above all else she wanted to be loved.

 _If this is my last night on earth,_ she thought, _I don't want to spend it invisible._

So it hurt that no one made eye contact as she walked along the mostly deserted hospital corridors. She hid it well, but as she approached her father's room, she suddenly wondered if it was such a good idea at all; what if he, like everyone else, regarded her coolly, with detachment and disinterest?

She tensed. Donna noticed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she lied.

A pause. "What are you gonna tell him?"

Audrey honestly had no answer for that; she had wanted a script, even something half-sketched and really rough around the edges that could guide her through the conversation. The problem was she had no idea how her father was going to react. The Ben Horne who had loomed so large in her the mythology of her life up until a few weeks earlier would probably be angry and possessive but for purely selfish reasons. There would be no caring, no worry, no love. This was the Ben Horne she knew, the one she could play off in her sleep but the one she feared and hated in equal measure.

The Ben Horne who had emerged from his Civil War fever dream was a horse of a different colour, no doubt. This was the man who set up an entire environmental campaign, against his own financial best interests, in order to save a species of forest mammal that most people couldn't have cared less about. Was this the man who she would meet on the other side of the door? Which Ben Horne had woken up from the coma?

Audrey simply shrugged. "I don't know what I'm going to say, Donna. I really don't."

Donna smiled and nodded as if she understood, but Audrey knew for a fact that she didn't. From where she stood, no one could possibly understand. It was a lonely, alienating feeling.

"I'll wait for you here," Donna said.

"Okay," Audrey smiled.

"Good luck," she whispered as she stepped backwards towards the row of dusty-rose-and-seafoam coloured benches lining the far wall.

Audrey brought her hand up to the door and hesitated before knocking. Her father's voice called from inside, granting her entry. She rested her hand on the door latch, counted to three, and pushed it down.

Ben Horne sat up in his hospital bed, watching the TV screen hanging from the ceiling in the far corner which was playing a prime-time special of _Invitation to Love_. Beside it, on a rolling cart, a second TV sat muted, the silenced news anchor reading today's top stories above a scrolling stock ticker showing the ups and downs of the day's global markets. A tray of uneaten food sat beside the bed; no personal items littered the space, save for a dozen or so large bouquets of Get Well flowers which lined the window wall and fragranced the room so heavily that Audrey was reminded of the florist's shop down the street from the department store where she'd bought her own corsage for junior prom the year before.

She had the advantage of standing in the shadow cast by the light over his bed as it hit the wall where the bathroom jutted out beside the door; hidden, she observed her father for a moment, struck by his appearance. He was covered by the hospital blankets to his waist; rather than the papery hospital nightgowns most patients were obligated to wear, he was clothed in silk pyjamas in richly embroidered gold and copper. He was pale as the sheets on the bed he lay in, and the bandage wrapped around his head nearly blended into his skin. He was awake, appearing to be highly engrossed in the soap opera playing above, but his hands looked frail as they rested in his lap.

"I've already had my evening medication," he said without looking away from the television. "So unless you're here to put something _fun_ in my IV, may I suggest—"

"Hi Daddy."

At the sound of her voice, Ben's head snapped around to the door, and when Audrey stepped out of the shadows, he became a changed man. "Audrey?" he asked. Eyes wide, mouth agape, he lifted his arms, opening them wide. "My god, Audrey!"

She crossed the room—any unsureness about what she should do crumbling away as she was overtaken by the desire to embrace him and be embraced by him. Careful to avoid his injuries and the IV attached to his arm, she leaned across the bed and into his arms.

"My god," he choked. "My little girl…"

"How are you?" she asked through tears.

He pushed her away briefly, taking in the sight of the bandage on her forehead and the bruises on her face. "What on earth happened to you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "You're the one still in the hospital," she tried to laugh. "When are they letting you go? Mom's at some special place in Puget Sound with Johnny. I've been staying with the Haywards…but you knew that already. Uncle Jerry has been—"

"Audrey," he stopped her, looking her square in the eyes. "What happened?"

Audrey stopped talking and for a moment all she could hear was the ambient noise of the hospital room—hot water in the radiators, the buzz of the TVs, the beep of his heart monitor and a humming from the light above the bed. In the relative silence, she thought she could hear her own heartbeat, until suddenly it was all she could hear, and as it thrummed dangerously close to her eardrums, she felt tears on her lashes and a knot forming in the base of her throat.

She couldn't help it; the story just spilled out. Every detail, in one long and meandering sentence, burst forth from her lips. She started on the night of the pageant and didn't stop until she had told him everything—her relationship with Agent Cooper, his change in behaviour, the attack the night before in the elevator lobby, her rescue and realizations over the last twenty four hours. "But he was acting so weird Daddy," she finished, "And that was because he went to this place, this supernatural place, and when he came back he was different, and he wanted to hurt me…well, not _him_ as such…I mean…it was _him_ in body, but not in _spirit_. He _never_ would have hit me. _Never_ would have left me up on the mountain…I nearly died, but he would _never_ —"

"Wait, wait," Ben interjected, lifting a hand to graze the bandage on her eyebrow. "So _he_ did this?"

Audrey took a breath. "No, Daddy, it wasn't really him, you see, it was—"

But Ben was apoplectic. "That _bastard!_ From the very first moment I laid eyes on him, Audrey, I swear to you—"

Frustrated, Audrey put her hands on his in a futile attempt at calming him down. "I'm not explaining this well, not at all," she sighed. "Agent Cooper has been _possessed_. By an evil spirit named BOB who lives in the forest, in a place called the Black Lodge."

The look on his face as he took in what she was saying would have been comical if not for the situation; he seemed about ready to ask if the nurses _had_ , in fact, put something fun in the IV drip. LSD, a solution of psilocybin perhaps. Maybe peyote. Audrey stifled what would have been a very inappropriate giggle, sniffling back what remained of the tears.

"What do you mean?" he asked finally.

"He's in there, the _real_ Dale, the _Good_ Dale," she said. "He's trapped in the Lodge, and the man who walks among us out here is…like an evil double. The Good Dale is not in control…not all the time, anyway." She took a breath. "But he has moments where he breaks through. He was able to save my life. He got help for me, from Sheriff Truman. Now it's my turn to help him."

"You want to help the man who nearly killed you?"

Audrey's heart sank; she hadn't considered the fact that most sane people wouldn't believe a tale of demonic possession and spirit portals in the woods. Of course her father would be skeptical. _And now I feel like a fool,_ she thought as she wrinkled her eyebrows together and pressed her thumb and forefinger across the bridge of her nose, struggling to remain steadfast.

"I'm the only one who can help him, the only one who can save him," she said, looking back up at him. "Don't try to talk me out of this. Everyone keeps trying, but it won't work. I'm doing it."

His face had changed, softened. He blinked slowly. "I wouldn't insult you by trying to change your mind," he said. "I may not be Father of the Year but if there's on thing I know about my daughter, it's that when she sets her mind on something…"

"So you do believe me?" she asked. "That I'm telling the truth?"

He considered for a long moment before replying. "I can't imagine why you'd make up a story like this," he said.

"I wouldn't, I swear."

He nodded, looking her in the eyes before averting his gaze entirely. For a moment he watched the TV suspended from the ceiling; a real estate company commercial played on the screen. Then he sighed and looked down at his own hands, which he wrung twice before settling them in his lap once again. "Your mother and I were not always the shining examples of parenthood that others in our community were. We didn't raise you and your brother so much as let you raise yourselves. We can't take credit for who you are today." He sighed again, longer this time, and kept his hands glued to his hands. "We were not good parents, and for that I am terribly sorry."

Audrey felt the pressure to contradict him, borne out of courtesy and good manners she'd learned from years in the hotelier business, to tell him he was wrong and that he did the best he could have done even though she knew it was a lie. The fact remained that they _had_ been less-than-ideal; absentee at the best of times and straight up cruel, neglectful, and mean at their worst. She knew that, and couldn't— _wouldn't_ —lie to spare his feelings.

And yet, sitting in that room with the man who had embraced her when convenient and ignored her when inconvenient for all but the last few weeks of her life thus far, she felt curiously at peace. She sat up and took a deep breath, lifting her eyes to meet his. "You're right, Daddy, but it's okay," she said to him. "I wasn't a perfect daughter either."

"But that's just it, Audrey," he said, reaching out and grasping her tiny pale hands in his, a paternal action that closed her throat and sprang more tears to her eyes. "In spite of everything, you've turned into someone I am proud to know." He paused. "You are a remarkable woman."

For a moment, Audrey felt guilty for waiting so long to visit him.

Audrey looked down at their hands and then up at his face. "What I'm about to do tonight…it's dangerous," she admitted. "So many things could go wrong. I could be trapped there. I could die. I'm afraid—"

"Afraid?" he said. "You survived a kidnapping and near fatal heroin overdose, a bombing that took the lives of everyone else in that building, and an attack on your life at the hands of a man you claim is possessed by demon spirits from the depths of hell. Afraid?" he shook his head. "You're Audrey Horne. Tonight is _not_ the night you die."

Audrey heard his words and surprised herself when a part of her actually believed them. The feeling was potent; it lived in her spine and squared her shoulders and lit fire to her fingertips as she itched to move and act and change the world around her, bend it to her will. For she had never felt important enough to exist on her own, not in the way he was describing, not until tonight. Like so many others before her, she was tied to the relationships she had with the men in whose orbits she existed, however briefly. She was Benjamin Horne's only daughter; she was the legitimate heir to her grandfather's fortune so long as Johnny Horne remained at his current developmental level; she had been a victim of Jean Renault, a fling to John Justice Wheeler, a friend and lover to FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper. Had the events of the night before gone differently, it was conceivable that her life would have _ended_ at the hand of a man; her obituary would have been brought to black-and-white reality by the _actions_ of a man.

But now she realized she was standing on the precipice of something much larger than the Horne name passed down paternally through the centuries, bigger than the dozen rooms her family had occupied at one end of the Great Northern Hotel, perched atop a waterfall in the middle of nowhere, where Audrey had spent her formative years casting herself as a raven-haired Rapunzel awaiting her shining knight.

Now, she had the chance to play the conquering hero. She would be the knight.

"You love him, don't you?"

Her father's voice broke through her reverie, startling her. Audrey paused for a long moment before nodding. "I do, Daddy. I love him very much. And he loves me. I know that he would never hurt me. Never. That's how I know this isn't him. Which means he's there, and I can't leave him, not after everything he's done for me, everything he's shown me, all that he's made me feel."

Ben narrowed his eyes in thought, keeping his hands pressed around his daughter's for a long moment of silence. Then, he took a breath. " _Ay me…for aught that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth_ …" he said, squeezing her hand.

"Shakespeare?" Audrey guessed, filled with hope that it was. She'd always heard him whispering sonnets to others; staff members and special guests. Never had he ever recited anything of the sort to her.

" _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ ," he said.

Audrey blinked; her tears finally fell, landing on the sleeve of her sweater. Ben _tsked_ and tapped the end of her nose, making her laugh.

"Audrey, before you go—" he reached to the top drawer in the small bedside table beside him, leaning over to open it and pulling something out from inside.

To Audrey's eyes it was nothing more than a small leather pouch, but as he snapped the edge open she realized it was a coin pocket.

"I don't need money," she said.

"I'm not giving you money," he said, pulling from within the leather pouch a gold coin. "Well, technically I am, but—" Holding it between his fingers, he extended his hand and opened hers, pressed it into her palm. "This is a special coin. It belonged to my grandfather, your great-grandfather, the first of the Hornes to settle in Twin Peaks nearly a hundred years ago. Passed down through the years as a token of good luck, it came into my possession when my father died."

Audrey looked down at the coin. It was heavy, obviously made of gold. Engraved on one side was the image of a Native American man in a traditional headdress; flipping it over, she saw the reverse side featured an eagle standing on a bunch of arrows, holding an olive branch in its talons. It had a stated value of two-and-a-half dollars but she suspected its actual value was something far greater.

"Now I'm giving it to you," he said with a sigh before launching into his version of an explanation. "Your great-grandfather built a cabin on the edge of a lake and raised a family there. Your grandfather took that site and built a hotel," he looked down at her hand, "All I ever wanted was to continue their legacy but…in light of recent events, I think it's only fitting that the next generation be passed the torch, as it were. It's yours now, Audrey. A reminder of where you come from and a light to show you where you're going."

"But…why—?" she asked.

He nodded, narrowing his eyes. "Our ancestry is Scottish, as you well know, and there is a legend from that place that, I believe, says a woman going out on the night of a new moon should always carry with her a piece of gold in her left pocket for luck," he said, tapping the coin in Audrey's hand. "If I'm not mistaken, tonight is a new moon. And you said it yourself: it's a dangerous night."

"Yes," Audrey said breathlessly. "But it's the only night we'll be able to save him."

"Then it's entirely _apropos_ that you should keep this close at hand," he said.

She squeezed the coin shut in her hand. "Thanks, Dad," she said finally, reaching through the dull ache in her muscles to embrace him. He kissed her temple.

"I _will_ see you on the other side of this," he said.

"You bet!" Audrey said, faking exuberance.

"Audrey," he said, his voice taking on a familiar stern tone. "I mean it. I want to hear from you as soon as you return."

"Okay."

"Promise me."

She smiled. "I promise."

He nodded, softening. "Now go on. I imagine you have much to do."

Audrey shifted her weight and transitioned off the bed to the floor beneath her; she slipped the coin into her pocket, where it clanked with a dull thud against the ring. Then she nodded. "Goodnight Dad."

She smiled, feeling herself getting choked up and fighting tooth and nail not to let him see her cry again. Whether he was being genuinely concerned or was placating her with feigned belief, she was grateful for the conversation. If it ended up being the first of many in this new relationship, it was a good start; if, on the other hand, it ended up being her last, she was satisfied with where she left it.

She lifted her hand to wave at him, folding her fingers down over her palm three times as she walked backwards to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hallway.

When she shut the door behind her, the sound echoed down the hall in both directions, causing both nurses at the station nearby to look up.

"Audrey?" Donna called out softly.

She lifted her head and shook it, her hair bobbing back and forth with the movement. "Yeah?"

Donna stood and walked the width of the hallway until she was at Audrey's side. "Are you okay?"

Audrey nodded. "I'm ready to go now."

"Home?"

"No," she said. "I think I just want to be alone for a little while. Maybe go for a walk? Collect my thoughts."

Donna shook her head. "I'm not leaving you," she said. "We can walk together. Or drive. Or whatever you want to do."

Audrey bent her head. "Donna, it's a school night—"

"Where do you get off telling me that?" she asked with a laugh. " _You're_ not going to school tomorrow. And there are maybe more important things in life than _school_." She stood up straight. "We're sisters, remember? And that has to count for something."

Audrey smiled. "Well, if you really do feel that way…I think I need a warmer sweater, maybe some pants too. My warm clothes are all at the hotel still. But I have to be at the Sheriff's station at midnight."

Donna linked arms with Audrey. "Then we shouldn't waste any more time, should we?" she smiled. "Come on, Audrey Horne. We have work to do."


	23. Waiting

**10:54pm**

Special Agent Dale Cooper leaned his head against the wall and exhaled past the growing sense of unease lodged in his chest. It had been two hours—he guessed—since his last dose of haloperidol. A triple dose, designed to last at least six hours, although Cooper could already feel its grip loosening and the demon within him starting to manifest again.

The feelings associated with the drug were curious. Within seconds of the injection, he always felt a deep and abiding sense of calm, the kind of feeling he'd only felt before during intense meditation sessions. This feeling preceded the clarity of vision which allowed him—stuck as he was in the Red Room—to act of his own volition again, voice his thoughts and see the world around him. He was controlled and measured, relatively speaking; it was blissful.

But the drug always began to lose its edge almost as soon as it blossomed fully, and the scattering of his mind began sooner and sooner with each dose. It would feel as though he were walking through smoke; it would briefly obscure his vision and then dissipate just as quickly. Each time he returned to the stark interrogation room, his senses fractally shattering around him, he would feel dizzy and disoriented. Always, always, in the back of his mind, he could hear the voices that told him what they wanted to do; it took everything in his power to ignore them. He was tired, fraying at the edges.

If whatever their plan was didn't work, he knew he would not survive much longer. Soon enough, BOB would return. Another injection would be made. Cooper would feel fine, and one hour and fifty-seven minutes would pass before he would need another; then one hour and fifty minutes the next time. And soon, the drug would be ineffectual, and the transformation would be complete. The thought paralyzed him, left him dreading the passage of time that brough him ever closer to his fate; he supposed that this was what being on death row felt like.

There were so many people that Cooper felt beholden to, and one of them had been sitting next to him for the last little while, silent and stoic as he read the newspaper. He'd been so grateful for the company. It was one more thing he had to thank Sheriff Truman for.

"How was the weather today?" Cooper asked, thin-voiced and weakened; he hated the sound.

"Good," Truman replied, turning his head slightly as he flipped the newspaper page. "Unusual. First really warm, clear day we've had in a while."

Cooper sighed and closed his eyes. "Sounds like a good day for baseball."

Truman chuckled. "I guess I never thought of it that way."

He glanced at the sheriff. "You a fan?"

"Last I checked I was a red-blooded American male," Truman grinned. "Does that answer your question?"

Cooper smiled. "Let me guess—White Sox."

He looked instantly puzzled. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Just lucky, I suppose," Cooper drawled, although truthfully he'd spied a small, framed 1960 Early Wynn baseball card on the wall behind the desk in Truman's office and it hadn't been much of a leap to put two and two together after that.

"You a Phillies fan?"

Cooper shook his head. "I admit to a certain hometown pride, and I'll cheer for them whenever they're playing, unless they're playing the Dodgers," he said. "That's my team."

Truman nodded. "1959 World Series," he grinned. "What a matchup."

Cooper sighed. "First time since 1919 that the White Sox won a pennant."

"And Game 5 in Los Angeles is still a record holder for attendance, if I'm not mistaken."

"You are not mistaken," Cooper said, sighing as he rested his head back against the wall.

Truman cast a sideways glance Cooper's way; Cooper could have seen the mischievous, boyish grin from a mile away. "We trounced you in Game One. Eleven to zero."

Cooper fidgeted against the wall. "Hometown advantage..."

"Are you joking?" Truman raised his voice with a scoffing laugh. "Kluszewski scored _two_ homers that game. Seven runs in the third inning _alone_!"

Cooper laughed, "And then came Game Two. And Game Three. And Game Four, come to think of it…"

"Yeah, yeah," Truman waved him off as he settled back against the wall. "We'll get another shot."

"Do you buy the whole curse thing?" Cooper asked.

Truman lost his smile. "As a rule, I never used to believe in curses, no. Now though?"

Cooper began to cough, dry and hacking; his vision blurred and he thought for a moment that the room had begun to tilt. He shot his hand out to steady himself, grateful for Sheriff Truman's decision to forgo the cuffs this one time. Had his hands been shackled behind his back, he would have pitched to the side and landed, hard, against the concrete floor.

"You okay?" Truman asked, helping to steady him upright.

Cooper took a deep breath. He wasn't okay. But how could he tell Truman that?

He opted for a different tack altogether.

"Harry, if I don't make it tonight—"

"Aw, Coop, come on now," Truman sighed.

"No, hear me out," Cooper's voice wavered despite trying to sound firm. "I have a will. I have a plan for my finances, my personal effects, everything of my life in Philadelphia. But my life here, that's never been covered in any document."

Truman rested his elbows on his knees. "You mean your things at the Great Northern?"

Cooper shook his head; his mouth was dry, and his tongue was thick within it. "I'm talking about Audrey."

Sheriff Truman was silent for a long moment; eventually, he began to nod, his understanding crystal clear.

"I'll do everything I can to make sure she gets out," Cooper offered. "But if I don't make it and she does, you have to promise me—"

"I'm not gonna sit here and listen to this," Truman growled. "You're _both_ gonna make it. You're both gonna survive and you're both gonna keep going, and one day you'll invite me to your wedding and if you don't I'll show up anyway because I'm sure as hell not gonna sit by while this story takes off, not after all this, and when you have your first kid you're gonna name him Harry if it's a boy or Harriet if it's a girl, Cooper, I swear to—" he said, pausing to take a breath and laughing as he did so. "You're gonna make it, and that's all there is to it."

Cooper pressed the back of his head to the wall and smiled. "That's quite the fairytale you've written there."

"Well," Truman shrugged. "I figure you gotta believe in something."

"Yeah."

 _What do you believe in Coop?_

The voice he heard was not of this world. It came at him from all sides, pricking his skin and diving underneath to live in his veins. He felt like he was burning up from the inside out. The room around him grew fuzzy at the edges again. He felt his pulse quicken; his unshackled arms and legs began to twitch. Shutting his eyes, he felt himself tilting, pitching sideways, as if the room once again became a Tilt-a-Whirl; when he opened them, the cool grey walls were tinged red.

 _You don't even know how close you are…_

BOB was back.

"Harry, I'm gonna need—"

Truman reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a pre-filled syringe. "Already?"

 _You can keep sticking the needle in, Cooper, but you're never gonna drive me out. Don't you know that already? I'm fusing with your marrow. I'm in your bones, Coop. I'm part of you now._

"Shut up, just shut up," Cooper gritted his teeth.

"What?" Truman asked

Cooper rolled up his sleeve, exposing the inside of his elbow. "Now."

 _You can run but you can't hide. You can run run run as fast as you can. But I promise you I'll find you. I'll find you and I'll make you choke the life out of her with your own hands. I'll make you watch, Coop. Your eyes are gonna be the last thing she ever sees…_

"Do it, Harry. _Now!_ "

Truman uncapped the syringe with his teeth and found a clear spot next to the marks already left. He pressed the needle tip to his skin and it slid straight into the vein.

Cooper hissed as the pain shot through his arm, but he quickly relaxed as soon as Truman depressed the syringe and the life-saving fluid was carried off into his circulatory system. The room righted itself; the walls returned to their original colour. BOB and his threats tumbled down into the deepest recesses of his subconscious, quieting as he fell away. Cooper felt peace; but his hands still shook and his heart still pounded.

Tears sprang to his eyes. "Two hours?" he asked.

"About that," Truman replied. "This has to be your last dose, Coop. Next time—"

He sighed. "I don't want to know," he said. "Harry, don't say another word. Everything you say…every word you say…"

"I know," Truman said, tossing the used needle to the floor and scooting himself a bit closer to Cooper.

"If BOB isn't the devil himself…" Cooper trailed off as he tried and failed to compose himself. He began to cry instead, dropping his head into his hands. "I'm so afraid, Harry."

"It'll be over soon," Truman said, trying his very best to be a comfort.

 _Will it?_ Cooper wondered. He used to be sure of so much before this. Now, he was certain of nothing.

* * *

 **An hour later**

Sheriff Truman trudged back up the stairs to the main floor and ran a hand over his tired face. The door slammed back into its frame, and with each long, lanky stride he took down the hallway he felt the pull of sleep tugging at his brain. Rounding the corner into the lobby, he couldn't even be bothered to look up but went straight for the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee.

"How's he doing?" Albert asked from his perch on the edge of the waiting room sofa.

Truman concealed his nervous jump. "Rough," he admitted once he recognized who was talking. The sound of hot coffee hitting the ceramic mug was like music to his ears; he inhaled the deep aroma. "He's sleeping a bit right now. I just needed a break, came up to stretch my legs—"

Albert stood up. "Shift change," he said. "Take a load off. We've got a long night ahead of us."

The sheriff gulped down the first mouthful of coffee, feeling it burn his tongue and the roof of his mouth and sear shut the frayed edges of his nerves. "You sure you wanna go down there?"

"Gotta pull my weight," he said.

Truman smiled. "We spent a good deal of time talking about baseball actually."

Albert groaned. "Good lord," he sniffed, turning up the corners of his mouth in a sly smile. "Is that the one with runs and innings?"

Truman laughed. "I'm sure you have a wealth of other conversational topics at your disposal you can use to distract him. Old cases, maybe."

"Yeah, well…" Albert said as he slung his suit jacket over his arm. "I'm sure as hell not gonna was rhapsodic about Cracker Jacks."

The FBI agent took his leave, and Truman turned back to the coffee station, finishing his mug and pouring a second cup as the door to the station opened and Hawk bustled in. The way he rubbed his hands and huddled within his coat, Truman could tell that it was cold out. Still, to make conversation, he asked:

"Cold night?"

Hawk nodded. "It's always cold under clear skies." He blew into his hands. "Audrey Horne and Donna Hayward just showed up."

Truman glanced through the doors to the station behind Hawk; he thought he saw the faint outline of the Hayward's secondary vehicle parked on the street outside. "Have you called the others yet?"

"Major Briggs said he would be here between midnight and twelve-thirty. He'll bring Sarah," Hawk replied. "My guess is Doc Hayward'll be here soon too. Margaret's meeting us up there."

Truman nodded and sipped his coffee, gesturing with his elbow towards the pot.

Hawk waved him off. "I prefer to stay clear headed during situations like this," he said.

"Suit yourself," Truman muttered as he leaned against the reception desk. The two men stood in silence for a long moment, surrounded by the ambient noises of the station and whatever thoughts chanced through their minds.

"Do you believe in Heaven, Sheriff Truman?" Hawk asked after several long seconds had passed.

Truman shrugged. "I suppose so. I _want_ to anyway." He kicked his foot against the carpet. "What about you?"

"The belief system of my people presupposes the existence of an afterlife," he said.

Truman took another sip from his coffee cup. "That doesn't quite answer the question."

Hawk offered a smile. "I guess my non-answer _is_ an answer," he said. "But I think life is precious and since it may be the only one we've got, we need to safeguard it as much as possible."

"Is this your way of telling me you're worried about tonight?"

Hawk nodded. "I have faith in our mission and the plan we have in place. But of course I worry."

He looked back out the doors to the car parked outside, and Truman followed his gaze.

"About?" Truman prodded

"About everyone. Agent Cooper. Audrey. Even Philip Gerard for that matter," he admitted. "And this town. What will happen to us all if the evil that lives in our woods escapes? If we are unsuccessful? And what if we are _successful_ , and the evil is trapped? What then?"

Truman didn't follow. "I'm afraid you've lost me," he said. "Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

Hawk firmed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "When you've existed and operated in stark opposition to a dangerous foe for so many years, even if you don't know who that foe is, and it's suddenly vanquished, things don't just return to normal. They can't." He grew silent. "I believe this is what Margaret was talking about this afternoon. The medicine used to hold the spirits at bay within Agent Cooper and Mr. Gerard are powerful. They need to be, in order to do their job and keep the Lodge dwellers safely hidden away within their host. And the body adapts to it, that power, like a muscle after training. If these spirits leave their hosts suddenly, the power of the body and the mind—all that energy and training to withstand the enemy—it's all still there. It doesn't just go away. If it's too powerful, it can do just as much damage as the evil it was sent to protect."

Truman imagined someone pushing against a door, struggling to keep it closed to forces trying to barge in from outside. Suddenly the door vanishes, as do the foes, but the person pushing keeps pushing momentarily, and crashes headlong through the door frame, stumbling and tripping into the ground. Extrapolating that to a whole body, or a whole town, Truman began to question what they were about to do.

"So are you saying we're damned if we do and damned if we don't?"

Hawk was silent. "I wish I had an answer for you, Sheriff Truman, but I don't." He sighed. "I just hope I'm wrong."

Truman would have been quite content having not had this conversation. But before he had a chance to reflect any further, headlights cut across the lobby. The rest of the reinforcements were arriving.

* * *

 **Twin Peaks Sheriff's Department Parking Lot  
** **11:59pm…12:00am  
** **April 4**

Audrey took a long, heavy drag from the cigarette suspended between her fingertips and blew a pillar of smoke heavenward, watching as it briefly obscured the stars above before dissipating in the night sky. She knocked the ash from the tip, tapping it on the edge of the car's front hood before passing the cigarette back to Donna. Then she pulled the lapels of her heavy corduroy jacket closed across her chest and shivered from the cold.

"Maybe it'd be better if you just buttoned up," Donna offered.

"Maybe," Audrey smiled. "Maybe I just need something to do with my hands."

A car pulled into the parking lot; Audrey saw that it was Major Briggs' vehicle. She watched him exit the car and help Sarah Palmer with the passenger door, and in her periphery she saw them walk up the steps to the station and enter the doors.

It seemed a bit much, she thought, that someone as important as Major Briggs, or as grief-stricken as Sarah Palmer, should have to be hauled out of the comfort of their homes at midnight to assist. _If that's even what they're here for_ , she thought. _Maybe they came by to report a robbery or something…_

Donna's movements called Audrey's attention back fully to the fore. Her friend performed the same action as she had done with the cigarette, the same twisting and curling smoky line billowing from her lips as it traveled up into the ether. Audrey had never noticed how dark it got during a new moon, but with so little light pollution—artificial or otherwise—to block them, Audrey was startled to see more stars than she could ever remember seeing in her life. Maybe it was simply that she'd never paid attention; maybe she honestly had never cared. Now, she tried to spot familiar constellations, but in the sea of white pinpricks there was no telling where Orion or Ursa Major sat in the firmament.

So she just stared at it, the wide expanse of black dotted with the light streaming in from millions of light years away. It was as if she were looking at infinity.

"That's a lot of stars," Donna said, echoing Audrey's own sentiment.

"How many do you think?"

Donna took a moment to imagine, then took a drag from the cigarette again. The red tip glowed, illuminating her face for a moment before dimming again. She blew out the smoke and handed the cigarette back to Audrey. "At least a million."

"More," Audrey contended, without missing a beat. "A billion. A _hundred_ billion. A hundred _trillion_ maybe." She held the cigarette between her fingers like a conductor's baton, waving it in the air in front of her, the glowing ember at the tip streaking fire through the sky. For a moment, hovering there in front of her eyes against the deep dark background of all those stars, she imagined that it was a meteor zooming this way and that across the sky. Before long, the ash accumulated at the tip came loose, dropping onto the lapel of her jacket. Audrey laughed and brushed it away.

"You're in a surprisingly good mood," Donna noted, taking the cigarette from her friend. "All things considered, that is."

Audrey shrugged. "If you can't laugh, what's all this for?"

Donna shrugged. "Well, I suppose that's true."

A second car approached, from the opposite direction; the headlights cut across the darkened street and illuminated the hood of the car, where the girls were laying. Audrey uncrossed her ankles and pushed herself up, laboring past the twinges of pain in her body as she did so. Donna stubbed out the cigarette and blew the last of the smoke from her lungs.

"It's my dad," she hissed.

Now Audrey was certain they were here for the same reason. Unless Doc Hayward was also arriving to report a crime. Audrey doubted that very much.

Donna struggled to look natural as her father parked the car, stepped out, and walked over to join them across the small lot.

"Girls," he said.

"Hi Doctor Hayward," Audrey said.

The doctor smiled but focused on his daughter. "Shouldn't you be in bed, Donna?"

"Dad…" she moaned.

"I'm not sure you should be a part of this, is what I'm saying," he intoned.

"Well I _am_ a part of this," she replied.

He seemed resigned. He wasn't really looking to start something with her. His kind eyes understood that these were unique circumstances; Audrey could tell that much even in the pitch black.

"Cold out," he said. "You two okay with just those jackets on?"

They both answered in the affirmative.

He nodded, glancing at Major Briggs' car; its engine still made the occasional hot clicking noise, having just been shut off. "I guess we're making quite the convoy tonight."

Both girls nodded. Audrey turned her face to the heavens again.

"Audrey, I'd like to check you bandage again, if that's all right."

She agreed. It meant going inside, where it was both warm and bright; something about what they were planning seemed to necessitate darkness and secrecy, and flooding bright fluorescents over the whole thing made it feel amateur somehow. But it had been several hours since he'd last changed the dressings or cleaned the wound and that was important too. Who knows how long it would be until he had another chance?

"Yes, that's all right," she assented. She pivoted on the hood of the car and swung her legs over the side, dipping them down toe first until she touched the pavement. "Doctor Hayward? How many stars do you think are? Up there?"

He turned his face upwards and stared for a long moment at the sky; his smiling sigh told Audrey it had been a long time since he'd looked up, too. "I suppose it's a number too big to fathom," he said. "More than all the grains of sand on all the beaches in the world, I think I read that somewhere."

Audrey gasped. "That many?"

Doctor Hayward shrugged. "Or more. Or less," he offered a soft chuckle. "I don't think anyone's ever counted them."

Audrey had the sudden urge to ask Agent Cooper for his opinion—an instinctive, knee-jerk reaction she had when confronted with anything remotely interesting to her, that she thought he might have an interest in as well—and for the first time in a few hours, she felt a pang of sadness in the centre of her chest that nearly knocked the wind right out of her _._ In simpler days, she'd have been able to slip a note under his door, or sidle up to him in the Timber Room. She'd have been able to ask him innocently, and he'd have answered innocently, and it would have turned into a nighttime stargazing adventure on some patio at the Great Northern. They'd have counted the stars they could see and they almost certainly would have lost count around a hundred, laughing into their coffee cups and sighing to the night. Of course, he'd have been able to spot all those constellations lost to her amidst the overwhelming din of starlight, and he'd have told her all about Cassiopeia, pointing out Venus in the west and Polaris in the north and charted the path of satellites as they passed by overhead with an outstretched fingertip and wonder in his voice. They'd have kissed then, certainly, and one thing would have led to another and before Audrey would have known it, they'd have been counting breaths instead of stars, ensconced in the warmth of his bed and each other's arms.

Audrey shook her head and felt tears fall from her eyes. These were not simpler times, and Audrey's wistful nostalgia for them was not going to _abracadabra_ them into existence once again.

"Audrey?" Doctor Hayward asked. "Is everything okay?"

She wanted to tell him, honestly, that no, nothing was okay and she wasn't sure it ever would be again. But she straightened her back and smiled. "Just thinking," she said, swiping at the tear tracks on her face as she began to walk towards the station. Instead of letting her mind wander again, she listened intently, eavesdropping as Doctor Hayward leaned into his eldest daughter about not only breaking curfew but for smoking, a charge Donna didn't bother denying since the smell of it hung in the air around them.

Deputy Hawk met her at the door, and he gave her a knowing nod that conveyed something she couldn't decipher but which she felt in her stomach; trust, maybe, or respect. It was all new to her. Only one person had ever trusted or respected her before— _Don't go there, Audrey Horne, or you'll start to cry in front of everyone and won't that just beat all…_ —so how could she know? Instead, she smiled as sweetly as she could before continuing into the station, passing Major Briggs, whose presence filled her with confidence, and Sarah Palmer, whose lip trembled as she reached out to hug her, filling her space with the scent of her perfume and stale cigarettes.

Sheriff Truman nodded at her as well, but his stance was curiously more open. It always was. A keen observer could always tell what Harry S. Truman was thinking just by watching the waggle of his eyebrow or marking the tension in his jaw. Tonight, Audrey saw, he was scared but trying very hard to hide it. She hoped not for her sake; she wasn't as frightened as she thought she'd be. Instead, she continued to smile, hoping this time to send reassurance to him instead of the other way around.

Doctor Hayward asked her to sit on the sofa bench against the wall, and he brought up his medical bag— _Does he always carry that around, just in case?_ Audrey wondered. If Audrey were a doctor, that's what she would do. It seemed prudent to her, somehow, to always be prepared for any eventuality, especially if you have a special skill like the ability to save lives—and set it on the low coffee table in front of him. She yawned as she sat down, and Doctor Hayward peeled back the bandage and got to work.

A solid half hour passed in near silence while they waited for the night to start. Audrey was shocked as more people arrived: Ed Hurley and Joey Paulson, a few of the older boys she'd recognized from back when they were still in school, some men whom she'd never seen before. Sheriff Truman greeted them all personally; they all wore jackets with the same patch sewn on to the sleeve. Audrey didn't think to ask any questions, even when the lobby began to fill up.

At almost exactly 12:30 the call came from downstairs: Agent Cooper had told Agent Rosenfield that he could feel the hold of the medication lessening, and he wanted to come up before it faded entirely, to be driven to the site in a semi-lucid state, just in case.

Audrey braced herself. From the hallway leaded down to the interrogation rooms, the sound of a door opening and closing and heavy footsteps on carpeted ground could be heard.

Donna squeezed Audrey's hand, and Audrey unselfconsciously squeezed back, as Agent Cooper came into view.

* * *

Cooper tried to walk tall, doing so with great difficulty as he stepped out into the lobby at Albert's side. The moment he did, he watched as the people gathered there instinctively circled around Audrey at the center of the room, regarding him with suspicion, wondering if he was still Dale Cooper or if he was BOB again.

He felt the tug from BOB grow stronger as Audrey's presence made itself clear, and even more when the fifteen or more people in the room had gathered around her so protectively. He understood the plan, all of a sudden. And, it seemed, so did BOB.

He looked around the room, making eye contact as he went. There was Major Briggs and Sarah Palmer, and there was Doctor Hayward and Deputy Hawk, Sheriff Truman and Albert. Even Donna Hayward had shown up. Crowded around them were the familiar faces of the very best of the Bookhouse Boys.

It was a veritable army.

 _Not counting Audrey_ , he thought, who stood tall and unafraid; who met his eye and didn't waver. She peered at him, challenging him, sussing him out from over the shoulder of Joey Paulson.

"I can't thank you enough for coming," he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

"No question in our mind," Ed said. "Harry said you needed help. That's enough for us."

Major Briggs echoed the sentiment. "If ever there was a man deserving of such support in a time of crisis, Agent Cooper, it would be you."

Even Sarah Palmer managed a smile, though her fear was palpable; Cooper could almost taste it, standing six feet away.

But it was Audrey who drew his attention yet again. He fought the ever-advancing BOB, could feel him crawling up from the depths of his subconscious where the haloperidol had banished him; BOB, who wanted Audrey now, was drawn to her. It was taking every ounce of his strength to fight it.

But he had to fight; he had things to say.

And Audrey knew it.

She broke from the wedge formation that had formed around her, putting her hand on Joey's shoulder and urging him to step aside as she approached him, much to everyone's shock.

"Is it still you?" she asked softly.

Hearing her voice, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. "For now," he replied. "You're the bait?"

She nodded. "Will it work?"

"Yes," he said, gritting his teeth against the internal onslaught he felt coming. "It already is working."

Audrey took another step; he could feel the electricity charge between them, and when she reached for his hand, her warm fingers encircling his, the shock of it hurt. "I'll be going in there, wherever you are."

"I know. I'll find you," he said, reaching for her other hand and grasping it tightly. "Audrey, you mustn't be afraid."

She took yet another step closer; the toe of her saddle shoe bumped the toe of his boot, and she gripped his hand even tighter, standing six inches from his body. She stood several inches shorter than him, but as she looked up and into his eyes it became apparent to him that that did not matter one whit.

"I'm not afraid."

Cooper felt threads snapping as his resolve weakened even more. Sweat beaded on his brow and along the nape of his neck.

Audrey knew exactly what she was doing.

"You should be," he menaced, shutting his eyes as BOB's voice, for the first time, broke through. He hated himself.

Albert moved to intervene, but Audrey lifted a hand to still him, without breaking eye contact with Cooper. With the same hand, she pressed her fingers into the shoulder of his red flannel shirt at the shoulder, lifting herself up against him with languid fluidity before pressing her lips to his.

Cooper hung on for as long as he could, drinking her in, breathing the scent of her into his lungs as if she were oxygen and he was suffocating. His last thought before she pulled away was whether or not this would be the last time that would happen.

"I love you Audrey," he whispered.

"I know," she whispered back.

He felt it. The room began to shift, to tilt and spin. He saw red, flashes of it, and heard the incessant buzz of electricity surround him. He fell away as BOB reared up, taking him over completely.

"Do you want to play with fire, little girl?" BOB growled, as three grown men restrained his arms and tried to pull her away.

But Audrey Horne didn't back down. She pushed her way up and right into his face, nose to nose, staring him down as if her life depended on it. Gone was her softness, the liquid pools of her eyes replaced by steel and ice and venom; she opened her mouth and took a breath, and she didn't blink as she spoke:

"You bet I do."


	24. AUTHOR'S NOTE

THIS STORY IS COMPLETE BUT I'VE MOVED MY FANFIC WRITING TO ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN TO KEEP THINGS SIMPLER FOR ME INSTEAD OF CROSS-POSTING BETWEEN SITES!


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